THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GLEANINGS 


A    LITERARY    LIFE. 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR. 

MODERN    PHILOSOPHY, 
FROM  DESCARTES   TO   SCHOPENHAUER  AND  HARTMAXX. 


AMERICAN    POLITICAL  ECONOMY: 

IXCLUDIXG   STRICTURES   OX   THE  MAXAGEMEXT   OF   THE 
CURREXCY  AXD   THE   FIXAXCES   SIXCE   1801. 


Sent,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of  price  ly  the  Publishers, 

CHARLES    SCRIBXER'S    SONS, 

743  AND  745  BKOADWAY,  XEW  YORK. 


GLEANINGS 


A    LITERARY    LIFE 


1838-1880 


FRANCIS    BOWEN,    LL.  D. 

ALFORD   PROFESSOR   OF   PHILOSOPHY    IX   HARVARD    COLLEGE 


"  La  literature  n!a  jamais  6t£  son  but,  mais  son  moyen  " 


NEW  YORK 
CHARLES    SCRIBXER'S   SONS 

743  AND  745  BROADWAY 

1880 


Copyright,  18SO, 
Br  CIIAKLES   SCIUBXER-S   SONS. 


RIVERSIDE,  CAMBRIDGE: 

STEREO  T  V  P  E  I)   AND  PRIMED   BY 

II.  0.  HOUGIITOX  AND  COMPAM. 


6 

945 


, 


PEEFAOE. 


THE  contents  of  this  volume  have  been  gleaned  from 
a  wide  field.  They  have  been  selected  from  a  much 
larger  number  of  miscellaneous  papers,  and  are  here 
brought  together  as  having  some  unity  of  purpose, 
devoted  as  they  are  to  the  exposition  and  defence  of 
doctrines ,  which  seem  to  me  of  priceless  interest  and 
importance.  They  were  not  meant  to  set  forth  novel 
opinions,  or  any  mode  of  thought  or  system  of  belief 
here  first  propounded,  but  to  guard  and  inculcate  some 
of  the  old  and  familiar  truths  which  are  the  best  por- 
tion of  the  heritage  which  we  have  received  from  for- 
mer generations.  They  express  the  earnest  and  per- 
sistent convictions  of  the  writer  upon  topics  of  great 
moment,  which  still  so  far  occupy  the  minds  of  all 
thoughtful  persons  as  to  appear  foremost  among  what 
may  be  called  the  burning  questions  of  the  day.  Lit- 
erature is  not  in  its  highest  vocation  when  it  is  culti- 
vated merely  for  its  own  sake,  but  only  when  used  as 
a  means  of  promoting  other  and  nobler  ends  than  those 
of  a  purely  literary  character. 

A  few  of  these  papers  are  here  printed  for  the  first 


VI  PREFACE. 

time.  Others  had  been  in  print,  but  can  hardly  be 
said  to  have  been  published.  The  larger  number  of 
them  are  taken  from  the  different  periodicals  in  which 
they  have  appeared  during  the  last  forty  years. 

The  Essay  upon  Classical  and  Utilitarian  Studies  is 
an  attempt  to  prove  that  the  proper  end  and  aim  of 
the  higher  education,  which  is  sought  within  the  walls 
of  a  University  or  a  College,  is  not  to  impart  useful 
information,  which  is  best  obtained  from  Scientific, 
Technical,  and  Professional  Schools,  but  to  develop  the 
intellect  and  form  the  character  by  those  "  liberal  stud- 
ies "  and  scholastic  exercises  for  the  promotion  of  which 
Universities  were  first  instituted.  The  papers  upon 
Political  Economy  are  almost  exclusively  devoted  to 
pointing  out  the  serious  evils  which  menace  the  peace 
of  society  and  the  safety  of  property  and  trade,  through 
tampering  with  the  standard  of  value  and  the  pub- 
lic credit  by  reckless  experiments  with  the  currency, 
and  by  permitting  the  enormous  increase  of  national 
and  municipal  debt  which  has  marked  the  financial 
history  of  the  civilized  world  during  the  present 
century. 

But  most  of  the  Essays  in  this  volume  are  upon  phil- 
osophical subjects,  and  may  be  regarded  as  a  supple- 
ment to  the  volume  published  three  years  ago  upon 
"  Modern  Philosophy,  from  Descartes  to  Schopenhauer 
and  Hartmann."  They  were  intended  to  expose  and 
refute  those  doctrines  of  materialism  and  fatalism,  of 
agnosticism  and  pessimism,  which  have  been  imported 
into  America  from  England  and  Germany,  where  they 
have  usurped  the  name  and  garb  of  biological  and 


PREFACE. 


physical  science.  But  for  the  undue  prestige  which  is 
attached  in  this  country  to  opinions  and  reputations 
of  European  origin,  these  theories  would  not  have  ac- 
quired here  the  popularity  and  influence  which  they 
actually  possess.  The  hypothesis,  for  it  is  nothing 
more,  of  the  evolution  of  all  things  out  of  chaotic  dirt, 
through  powers  and  agencies  necessarily  inherent  and 
immanent  in  that  dirt,  unhelped  and  unguided  any- 
where by  an  organizing  Mind,  is  too  monstrous  a  doc- 
trine ever  to  be  entertained  by  competent  thinkers.  It 
teaches  "the  essential  bestiality"  of  man,  and  if  gen- 
erally accepted,  it  would  destroy  all  the  finer  qualities 
of  his  nature  and  condition,  and  reduce  him  again  to 
what  it  claims  to  have  been  his  primitive  state,  —  at 
first,  a  brother  to  the  insensate  clod,  and  then  a  beast. 
I  have  argued  strenuously  against  these  infidel  specu- 
lations, because  I  believe  them  to  be  as  baseless  as  they 
are  injurious.  The  upholders  of  them  are  not  only  at 
war  with  all  morality  and  religion,  but  they  are  also, 
though  for  the  most  part  unconsciously,  attacking  those 
institutions  of  property,  the  family,  and  the  state,  on 
which  the  whole  fabric  of  modern  civilization  is  based. 
I  have  controverted  them  because  not  only  the  conse- 
quences of  their  doctrines  are  pernicious,  but  their 
method  is  misleading  and  unsound  ;  because  their  in- 
ferences conflict  with  all  sound  reasoning  and  faithfully 
observed  facts  ;  because  their  science  is  unscientific  and 
their  philosophy  is  unphilosophical.  In  these  respects, 
what  I  have  fully  believed,  and  earnestly  though  im- 
perfectly attempted  to  teach,  during  the  last  forty 
years,  is  set  forth  in  these  Essays.  If  the  arguments 


Vlll  PREFACE. 

contained  in  them  fail  to  impart  to  others  the  entire 
and  trustful  conviction  which  they  have  created  in  my 
own  mind,  the  fault  is  not  in  the  cause,  but  in  the  ad- 
vocate. 

HARVARD  COLLEGE,  September  10,  1880. 


COSTTEOTS. 


EDUCATION. 

PAGE 

PRIFATORY  NOTE  :   THE   CONTEST   BETWEEN   THE  ANCIENTS  AND  THE 

MODERNS        ............       5 

CIASSICAL  AND  UTILITARIAN  STUDIES 8 

A  paper  read  before  the  American  Academy  of  Arts  and  Sciences,  Feb- 
ruary 26,  1807. 
AIPENDIX  :   THE  ABUSE  OF  THE  STUDY  OF  GRAMMAR      .        .        .        .30 


POLITICAL   ECONOMY. 

A  MINORITY  REPORT  ON  THE  SILVER  QUESTION 33 

Presented  to  the  Senate  of  the  United  States,  in  April,  1877. 

THE  PERPETUITY  OF  NATIONAL  DEBT 71 

A  suppressed  Chapter  of  Political  Economy,  read  before  the  American 
Academy  of  Arts  and  Sciences,  in  March,  1868. 

THE  FINANCIAL  CONDUCT  OF  THE  WAR 93 

A  Lecture  delivered  before  the  Lowell  Institute,  in  Boston,  in  Novem- 
ber, 1865. 
THE    UTILITY  AND   THE   LIMITATIONS   OF   THE    SCIENCE  OF   POLITICAL 

ECONOMY 118 

From  the  Christian  Examiner  for  March,  1838. 


PHILOSOPHY. 

DUALISM,  MATERIALISM,  OR  IDEALISM 136 

From  the  Princeton  Review  for  March,  1878. 
THE  IDEA  OF  CAUSE 164 

From  the  Princeton  Review  for  May,  1879. 
THE  LATEST  FORM  OF  Tin;  DEVELOPMENT  THEORY 199 

From  the  Memoir?  of  the  American  Academy,  New  Series,  Vol.  V.    Com- 
municated March  27,  April  10,  and  May  1,  1860. 
DISEASES  AND  MALFORMATIONS  NOT  HERKDITABLE    .....  232 

From  the  Proceedings  of  the  American  Academy  for  January,  1S61. 
THE  PSYCHICAL  EFFECTS  OF  ETHERIZATION       ......  242 

From  The  Spectator,  London,  December  27,  1873. 


X  CONTENTS. 

BUCKLE'S  HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION 247 

From  the  North  American  Eeview  for  October,  1861. 
JOHN  S.  MILL'S  EXAMINATION  OF  SIR  WILLIAM  HAMILTON'S  PHILOSOPHY  2£8 

From  the  American  Presbyterian  lleview  for  April  and  July,  1869. 
THE  HUMAN  AND  THE  BRUTE  MIND 328 

From  the  Princeton  Review  for  May,  1880. 
MALTHUSIANISM,  DARWINISM,  AND  PESSIMISM £52 

From  the  North  American  Review  for  November,  1879. 
BLAISE  PASCAL         ....  .......  581 

From  the  North  American  Review  for  April,  1845. 

ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  :  THE  OXFORD  CLERGYMEN'S  ATTACK  ON  CHRIS- 
TIANITY           421 

From  the  North  American  Review  for  January,  1861. 


RESTORATION   OF   THE   TEXT   OF   SHAKESPEARE  :   THE   BATTLE  OF  THE 
COMMENTATORS      ........... 

From  the  North  American  Review  for  April,  1854. 


CLASSICAL   AND   UTILITARIAN   STUDIES. 

PREFATORY   NOTE     ON    THE     CONTEST    BETWEEN    THE     ANCIENTS    AND    THE 

MODERNS. 

THE  warfare  of  the  moderns  against  the  ancients,  as  it  was 
called,  which  raged  so  fiercely  in  the  French  Academy  during 
the  latter  part  of  the  seventeenth  century,  was  immediately 
carried  over  by  St.  Evremond  into  England,  and  there  caused 
the  celebrated  "  battle  of  the  books."  Sir  William  Temple 
and  William  Wotton  became  the  chief  participants  in  the  fray 
on  English  ground,  the  contest  between  these  two  leading 
ultimately  to  the  memorable  discussion  between  Bentley  and 
Bovle.  Then  the  controversy  slumbered  so  long  that  it  seemed 
to  have  died  out  and  to  be  forgotten  by  the  learned  ;"but  the 
embers  still  glowed  under  the  ashes,  and  the  dispute  broke 
out  afresh  in  our  own  day,  of  all  places  in  the  world,  within 
the  usually  quiet  precincts  of  the  American  Academy.  We 
fought  over  what  was,  in  the  main,  the  same  ground,  though 
the  recent  discussion  arose  under  new  circumstances  and  had  a 
different  purpose  in  view.  In  the  former  case,  the  question 
was  a  purely  literary  one ;  it  concerned  the  relative  merits  of 
the  ancients  and  the  moderns  considered  merely  as  guides  to 
taste  and  models  for  imitation.  In  the  latter  case,  the  dispute 
turned  upon  the  educational  value  of  the  Greek  and  Roman 
classics,  the  question  being  whether  they  ought  to  retain  the 
preeminent  place  which  they  had  so  long  held  in  our  higher 
schools  and  universities.  We  did  not  ask,  as  the  French  and 
English  had  done  before  us,  whether  the  moderns  had  not 
equalled,  or  even  surpassed,  the  ancients  in  poetry,  philosophy, 
eloquence,  and  history  ;  but  whether  physical  science  and  the 
useful  practical  arts  had  not  made  so  much  progress  that  they 
ought  to  crowd  out  the  classics  as  topics  of  instruction  and 
means' of  discipline  in  our  highest  seminaries  of  learning. 


6  THE  ANCIENTS  AND  THE  MODERNS. 

Those  who  began  the  contest  in  France,  and  who  were  the 
acknowledged  leaders  in  the  assault  upon  the  reputation  of  the 
ancients,  were  the  brothers  Perrault,  one  of  whom  was  the  ar- 
chitect of  the  Louvre  ;  and  among  their  active  supporters  were 
Desmarets,  Thomas  Corneille,  Fontenelle,  and  La  Motte.  On 
the  other  side,  there  was  a  far  greater  array  of  distinguished 
names,  embracing  most  of  the  great  writers  of  the  Augustan 
age  of  French  literature,  the  age  of  Louis  XIV.  Boileau  was 
the  veteran  in  command,  and  while  he  led  the  van  in  the  con- 
flict, he  was  eagerly  followed  by  Racine,  Fenelon,  La  Fontaine, 
La  Bruyere,  Dacier,  and  his  accomplished  wife,  the  translator 
of  Homer.  Charles  Perrault  followed  up  the  attack,  which 
had  been  commenced  by  his  elder  brothers  and  Desmarets,  in 
an  elaborate  work,  written  with  'much  wit  and  eloquence,  but 
with  defective  erudition,  which  he  entitled  "  A  Parallel  be- 
tween the  Ancients  and  the  Moderns."  Boileau  retorted  with 
a  shower  of  epigrams,  one  of  which  I  have  placed  as  a  motto  at 
the  head  of  the  following  paper.  Finding  that  this  discharge 
of  small  arms  did  not  produce  enough  effect,  he  published  a 
translation  of  Longinus  on  the  Sublime,  to  which  he  appended 
"critical  reflections"  at  great  length,  containing  a  savage  per- 
sonal attack  upon  his  antagonist,  and  a  merciless  exposure  of 
his  literary  blunders  and  the  absurdity  of  his  principles  of 
taste.  Racine  followed  up  the  blow  with  a  long  preface  to  his 
tragedy  of  "  Iphige'nie,"  in  which  he  soundly  rated  the  oppo- 
site party  for  their  ignorance  and  presumption,  and  their  im- 
perfect appreciation  of  the  master-pieces  of  ancient  art.  I 
cannot  follow  the  history  of  the  controversy  farther,  as  it  was 
prolonged  for  about  half  a  century,  and  the  literature  of  the 
subject  is  considerable.  The  whole  forms  a  curious  episode  in 
the  early  history  of  the  French  Academy. 

The  parties  to  the  discussion  in  the  American  Academy  cer- 
tainly kept  their  tempers  better  than  their  French  predeces- 
sors did,  and  aimed  to  treat  eacli  other  with  perfect  good 
humor  and  courtesy.  Dr.  Jacob  Bigelow,  who  had  been 
president  of  the  Academy  for  several  years,  and  who,  like  the 
elder  Perrault,  was  equally  distinguished  as  a  physician,  an 
architect,  a  scholar,  and  a  wit,  began  the  debate  by  a  lively 
and  ingenious  paper,  \vhich  he  read  at  the  meeting  held  on  the 


THE   ANCIENTS   AND   THE   MODERNS.  7 

20th  of  December,  1866.  My  reply,  a  defence  of  Classical 
Studies  as  a  means  of  education,  was  read  at  the  next  subse- 
quent meeting,  and  is  here  virtually  published  for  the  first 
time,  though  a  few  copies  of  it  were  printed  in  1867  for  pri- 
vate distribution.  In  an  address  delivered  at  the  opening  of 
the  Massachusetts  Institute  of  Technology,  November  16, 
1865,  Dr.  Bigelow  had  made  another  vigorous  plea  for  the 
moderns  against  the  ancients;  and  this  address,  together  with 
the  paper  which  he  read  before  the  Academy,  were  published 
by  him,  in  1867,  in  a  volume  entitled  "Modern  Inquiries." 
The  experiment  of  substituting  utilitarian  for  classical  studies 
in  the  higher  education  was  thus  ably  advocated  ;  and  it  was 
fairly  tried,  first,  by  the  establishment  of  the  Scientific  School 
in  Harvard  College,  and  secondly,  by  the  foundation  of  this 
Institute  of  Technology.  The  result  of  the  experiment  thus 
made  may  be  said  to  have  given  the  victory  to  the  advocates 
of  Classical  Studies  ;  for  neither  of  these  two  institutions  has 
justified  the  hopes  of  its  founders.  And  the  Agricultural 
School  at  Amherst,  established  on  a  similar  plan  and  liberally 
supported  by  the  State,  has  recently  been  declared  to  be  a 
total  failure.  I  believe  it  is  now  generally  admitted  by  all 
competent  persons  who  have  watched  the  results  of  the  trials 
thus  made,  that  what  is  properly  called  a  liberal  education 
cannot  be  built  up,  even  in  this  democratic  country,  on  any 
other  basis  than  a  thorough  study  of  mathematics  and  of  the 
Latin  and  Greek  classics. 

If  the  study  of  the  ancient  authors  should  ever  decline  and 
die  out  in  this  country,  it  will  be  the  classical  teachers'  own 
fault.  The  calamity  will  be  due  to  their  ill-judged  and  taste- 
less substitution  of  grammatical  subtleties  and  needless  philo- 
logical refinements  for  the  generous  and  attractive  study  of 
classical  literature  and  art,  and  to  the  consequent  disgust  with 
which  they  have  compelled  their  pupils  to  regard  the  whole 
subject.  Hence,  to  this  pica  in  behalf  of  Classical  Studies,  I 
have  added  in  an  Appendix  an  earnest  protest  against  the 
abuse  of  the  study  of  grammar.  If  there  be  not  a  complete 
reformation  of  the  practice  of  our  teachers  in  this  respect,  the 
advocates  of  utilitarian  studies  must  ultimately  win  an  easy 
triumph. 


CLASSICAL   AND   UTILITARIAN   STUDIES. 

A     PAPER     READ     BEFORE     THE     AMERICAN     ACADEMY    OF     ARTS     AND    SCIENCES, 
FEBRUARY    26,    1867. 

"  Clio  vint,  1'autre  jour,  se  plaindrc  au  dieu  des  vers 

Qu'eu  certain  lieu  de  1'uuivers, 
On  traitait  d'auteurs  froids,  de  poetes  steriles, 

Les  Homeres  et  les  Virgiles. 
'Cela  ne  saurait  etre  ;  on  s'est  moque  de  vous,' 

Reprit  Apollon  en  courroux. 
'  Ou  peut-on  avoir  dit  une  telle  infamie  ? 

Est-ce  chez  les  Hurons,  chez  les  Topinambous  ? '  — 
C'est  a  Paris.  — '  C'est  done  dans  1'hopital  des  fous  1 ' 

Non  ;   c'est  au  Louvre,  en  pleine  Academie." 

BOILEAU. 

IT  may  reasonably  be  doubted  whether  education  is  a  legiti- 
mate topic  for  investigation  and  discussion  by  this  Academy. 
And  yet  it  is  both  a  science  and  an  art ;  a  science  of  definite 
principles,  well-organized  methods,  and  demonstrable  results  ; 
and  an  art  of  measureless  practical  importance.  However  this 
may  be,  the  question  is  no  longer  an  open  one,  but  has  been 
decided  for  us  by  the  authority  of  our  venerable  ex-President, 
who,  at  one  of  our  recent  meetings,  read  an  elaborate  essay, 
which  he  has  since  published,  on  "  Classical  and  Utilitarian 
Studies."  That  essay,  learned,  witty,  and  ingenious,  as  every- 
thing is  which  comes  from  his  pen,  is  further  remarkable  be- 
cause it  is  written  by  an  excellent  classical  scholar,  and  con- 
tains a  sweeping  condemnation  of  Classical  Studies,  especially 
when  used  as  an  organon  of  education.  As  Dr.  Bigelow  has 

o  o 

forgotten  more  Greek  than  most  of  us  ever  learned,  he  will 
pardon  me  for  saying  that  he  has  indirectly  and  unconsciously 
refuted  himself ;  since  his  paper,  as  appears  from  the  very  face 
of  it,  could  not  have  been  written  except  by  a  proficient  in  the 
very  studies  which  it  condemns.  And  this  essay  lias  gone 
forth  to  the  world,  not  only  with  all  the  weight  of  authority 
which  belongs  to  its  authorship,  but  with  the  implied  sanction 


CLASSICAL   AND   UTILITARIAN   STUDIES.  9 

of  this  Academy,  if  some  voice,  however  feeble,  be  not  here 
raised  to  controvert  the  doctrine  which  it  teaches. 

And  what  is  this  doctrine  ?  Speaking  briefly,  it  is,  that  this 
bustling  and  practical  age  in  which  we  live,  —  this  age  of 
steam-engines,  railroads,  gas-lights,  and  Atlantic  telegraphs, 
when  the  physical  sciences  are  growing  with  a  rapidity  that 
takes  away  one's  breath,  and  startling  us  with  new  wonders 
every  day,  —  has  no  time  or  thought  to  waste  on  dead  lan- 
guages, obsolete  sciences,  or  works  of  literature  and  art  which 
served  well  enough  to  amuse  the  world  when  it  was  in  its  in- 
fancy. The  time  has  come  for  the  navigator  to  take  a  new 
departure.  Efface  the  record  of  all  that  was  said  or  done  be- 
fore the  year  1500,  or  thereabouts.  Throw  the  Greek  and 
Latin  classics  overboard  ;  abandon  even  "  the  intellectual  pur- 
suits "  of  those  who  wrote  them  ;  stick  to  "  utilitarian  science 
and  studies,  connected  with  practical,  material,  tangible,  and 
useful  things."  "  For  more  than  five  thousand  years,  —  from 
the  beginning  of  history  until  about  three  centuries  ago,  — 
the  human  race  had  made  little  progress  in  anything  which  we 
now  regard  as  constituting  material  welfare,  or  growth  in 
power,  knowledge,  and  means  of  happiness."  "  A  few  of  the 
last  generations  have  not  only  excelled,  but  greatly  distanced, 
the  collective  performances  of  all  those  who  have  preceded 
them."  Abandon,  then,  "  the  barren  studies  "  of  the  olden 
time  ;  learn  "  the  new  philosophy,"  which  dates  only  from  the 
age  of  Bacon,  and  is  illustrated  by  the  marvels  of  modern  dis- 
covery and  invention.  A  lifetime  is  too  short  to  acquire  an 
adequate  comprehension  of  what  the  utilitarian  sciences  of  our 
own  day  have  accomplished  for  the  world's  welfare.  Let  the 
dead  past  bury  its  dead.  And  this  advice  is  given  not  only  for 
the  distribution  of  time  and  effort  by  men  of  mature  years, 
but  with  especial  reference  to  the  education  of  the  young. 

This  brief  summary,  given  mostly  in  his  own  words,  shows 
that  Dr.  Bigelow's  quarrel  is  not  only  with  the  languages,  but 
with  "the  intellectual  pursuits,"  of  the  ancients,  —  witli  all  the 
sciences  and  arts  in  which  they  peculiarly  excelled.  His  cen- 
sure strikes  not  merely  their  forms  of  speech,  but  their  litera- 
ture, their  habits  of  thought,  their  arts,  their  logic,  and  philos- 
ophy. It  is  little  that  he  denies  the  educational  value  of  these 


10  CLASSICAL   AND    UTILITARIAN   STUDIES. 

things ;  the  present  generation,  he  thinks,  can  profitably  discard 
them  altogether.  The  world,  we  are  told,  has  outgrown  the 
Greeks  and  Romans  in  all  respects.  The  Essayist  traverses 
the  two  thousand  years  of  history  which  immediately  preceded 
the  age  of  Bacon,  and  finds  that  all  is  barren.  To  him,  physi- 
cal science  is  everything  ;  the  moral  sciences  are  a  mere  wil- 
derness of  words  and  waste  of  labor.  And  even  physical  science 
deserves  cultivation  only  so  far  as  it  leads  to  definite  and  tangi- 
ble results,  and  conduces  to  the  material  welfare  of  mankind,  — 
only  so  far  as  it  facilitates  the  invention  of  such  things  as  loco- 
motives, spinning-jennies,  and  Parrott  guns.  The  essay  might 
bear  as  its  motto  the  maxim  of  Sardanapalus  :  "  Eat,  drink, 
and  obtain  the  maximum  of  physical  ease  and  enjoyment ;  the 
rest  is  not  worth  a  fillip."  Not  Dr.  Bigelow's  original  inten- 
tion surely,  but  the  necessities  of  his  argument,  drove  him  to 
these  sweeping  iconoclastic  doctrines.  He  finds  it  impossible 
to  decry  the  study  of  the  ancient  languages  except  upon  those 
low  utilitarian  principles  which  preclude  our  finding  merit  in 
anything  that  does  not  promote  physical  comfort,  or  gratify 
ambition  by  enslaving  outward  nature  to  our  material  uses. 
I  am  glad  that  it  is  so.  The  extravagance  of  the  conclusions 
is  a  complete  reductio  ad  absurdum  of  the  premises. 

The  Essayist  has  overlooked  one  point,  a  due  estimation  of 
which  is  essential  to  any  full  consideration  of  the  subject. 
Harvard  College  has  less  than  four  hundred  and  fifty  under- 
graduates ;  add  those  at  Williams,  Amherst,  Tufts,  and  one 
or  two  smaller  institutions,  and  we  have,  in  this  State,  a 
total  of  about  one  thousand  students  in  college.  It  might 
seem  that  there  are  about  one  thousand  others  in  schools  and 
academies,  who  are  pursuing  preparatory  Classical  Studies ; 
but  as  less  than  half  of  the  undergraduate  period  is  devoted  to 
these  studies,  and  not  more  than  two  years  are  spent  in  acquir- 
ing Latin  and  Greek  enough  for  admission  to  college,  —  the 
remainder  of  the  time  bein£r  siven  to  mathematics  and  physical 

O   O  J.        */ 

or  moral  science,  —  it  follows  that  there  are  not,  at  any  one 
time,  more  than  about  one  thousand,  or  twelve  hundred,  young 
men  in  Massachusetts  who  are  studying  what  are  called  the 
dead  languages.  Our  population  is  over  twelve  hundred  thou- 
sand, of  whom  about  one  sixth,  or  two  hundred  thousand,  are, 


CLASSICAL   AND   UTILITARIAN    STUDIES.  11 

or  ought  to  be,  receiving  a  school  education ;  in  other  words, 
one  out  of  every  two  hundred  pupils  is,  at  any  one  time,  study- 
ing the  classics.1  This  proportion  is  probably  larger  in  Mas- 
sachusetts than  in  any  other  State  in  the  Union  ;  and  I  believe 
it  is  quite  as  large  as  in  any  country  in  Europe,  with  the  pos- 
sible exception  of  Germany,  where  the  direct  patronage  of  gov- 
ernment fosters  these  studies  to  a  somewhat  unnatural  extent. 
Then,  if  asked  whether  our  industrious  and  inventive  con- 
temporaries would  do  well  to  intermit  their  mechanical  pursuits 
in  order  to  study  the  ancient  languages  and  sciences,  the  an- 
swer is,  Certainly  not ;  no  sane  advocate  of  Classical  Studies 
expects  or  wishes  the  thousandth  part  of  the  whole  community 
to  do  any  such  thing.  But  what  then  ?  Because  not  one  man 
out  of  a  hundred  thousand  needs  to  become  a  practical  astron- 
omer, we  do  not  therefore  break  our  telescopes  and  pull  down 
our  observatories.  The  function  of  the  select  few  is  not  to  be 
construed  into  a  universal  obligation.  The  real  question  is, 
whether  those  few,  —  about  the  two  hundredth  part  of  the 
whole  educable  number,  —  who  have  the  time,  means,  and 
wish  to  obtain  a  liberal  education,  —  that  is,  to  give  themselves, 
up  to  about  twenty-one  years  of  age,  to  general  studies,  before 
undertaking  the  special  studies  of  some  particular  profession, 
—  should  be  encouraged  to  devote  one  fourth  or  one  third  part 
of  this  training-time  to  the  ancient  languages  and  sciences  ; 
and  this,  not  more  for  their  own  sake,  than  for  that  of  the  whole 
community  who  are  hereafter  to  profit  by  their  scholastic  at- 
tainments. The  classics  have  no  place  in  our  primary  or 
grammar  schools  ;  we  would  not  even  make  the  study  of  them 
imperative  in  our  scientific  schools  or  technological  institutes, 
though,  for  reasons  soon  to  be  given,  the  pupils  in  the  two  last 
would  unquestionably  be  better  fitted  for  their  work  by  the 
acquisition  of  a  little  Latin  and  Greek.  And  even  in  our  col- 
leges, as  already  explained,  less  than  half  of  the  pupils'  time  is 
devoted  to  these  languages. 

1  Harvard  College  has  now  (1880)  over  eight  hundred  undergraduates;  and  as 
the  number  in  the  other  colleges  is  also  considerably  increased,  there  are  now 
probably  about  sixteen  hundred  college  students  in  Massachusetts.  But  a  num- 
ber of  these  come  from  other  States  ;  and  as  the  population  of  Massachusetts  now 
exceeds  1,000,000,  the  proportion  stated  in  the  text  probaMy  remains  unaltered. 
as  one  out  of  everv  two  hundred. 


12  CLASSICAL   AND    UTILITARIAN    STUDIES. 

I  am  not  going  to  weary  you  with  an  attempt  even  to  reca- 
pitulate all  the  grounds  of  apology  (if  I  must  use  that  word) 
for  classical  learning.  The  field  has  been  so  thoroughly  trod- 
den down  by  the  multitudes  who  have  passed  over  it,  that  there 
is  not  a  square  inch  of  green  turf  left,  and  it  offers  but  a  dreary 
prospect.  Scholars  can  well  afford  to  rest  their  case  on  this 
single  consideration,  —  that  the  words  and  the  thoughts  of  the 
old  Crreeks  and  Romans  have  been  so  thoroughly  incorporated, 
so  deeply  ingrained,  into  modern  language  and  literature, 
whether  French,  Italian,  Spanish,  or  English,  that  no  thorough 
knowledge  or  appreciation  of  these  derivatives  is  possible  ex- 
cept by  going  to  the  sources  whence  they  tvere  drawn  ;  that  this 
infusion  has  taken  place,  even  in  a  greater  degree,  into  modern 
science,  which  is  so  built  upon  ancient  learning,  —  its  precise, 
far-extended,  and  ever-increasing  nomenclature  being  almost  ex- 
clusively Greek  —  that,  without  a  tolerable  knowledge  of  that 
language,  it  may  fairly  be  said  that  the  student  of  science,  hoiv- 
ever  earnest  and  capable,  knou'S  hardly  a  word  of  what  he  is 
talking  about.  Without  such  knowledge,  the  lawyer  must  seem, 
even  to  himself,  in  the  names  of  the  writs  which  he  every  day 
draws,  and  in  the  phraseology  of  the  legal  aphorisms  which  he 
is  compelled  constantly  to  cite,  to  be  prating  a  jargon  compared 
with  which  even  Choctaw  would  be  significant  and  harmo- 
nious. Without  it,  the  physician  cannot  read  intelligently  a 
single  page  of  a  medical  book.  Without  it,  the  divine,  except 
by  dim  approximation  and  with  much  blind  trust  in  very  fal- 
lible human  guides,  cannot  interpret  the  very  title-deeds  of 
man's  salvation.  Language  itself,  in  its  widest  sense,  not  of 
this  or  that  particular  nation,  but  of  the  whole  human  race,  — 
that  marvellous  work,  as  I  believe,  not  of  man,  but  of  God  him- 
self, —  with  all  its  intricacies  of  structure,  complex  harmonies, 
and  subtle  adaptations  to  the  nicest  shades  of  meaning,  cannot 
be  anatomized  in  structure  or  unfolded  in  thought,  except  by 
the  aid  of  that  special,  and  yet  typical,  form  of  it  which  was 
spoken  in  Attica  two  thousand  years  ago.  Universal  gram- 
mar is  a  science  which  owes  not  merely  its  terminology,  but  its 
very  being  and  substance,  to  the  light  which  the  special  forma- 
tions and  historical  development  of  Latin  and  Greek,  with  their 
derivatives,  have  shed  upon  the  structure  of  all  other  tongues. 


CLASSICAL   AND    UTILITARIAN   STUDIES.  13 

It  is  but  an  illustration  of  this  general  fact  to  say  of  English 
grammar,  in  all  it  parts,  —  orthography,  etymology,  syntax, 
and  prosody, —  as  taught  in  our  lowest  public  schools,  that  it  is 
only,  as  these  very  words  import,  an  uncouth  representative  — 
a  sort  of  bastard  child  —  of  the  Latin  and  Greek  accidence. 
And  I  believe  most  practical  teachers  will  bear  me  out  in  as- 
serting, that  it  is  never  taught  with  any  thoroughness  or  to 
much  profit,  except  as  a  consequent,  and  not  as  an  antecedent,  of 
the  Latin  grammar.  How  could  it  be  otherwise,  in  view  of  the 
very  complex  origin  of  our  language,  its  vigorous  but  somewhat 
wild  development,  and  the  heterogeneous  elements  of  which 
it  is  made  up  ?  Our  noble  mother-tongue  is  alike  remarkable 
for  its  copiousness,  its  flexibility,  its  strength,  and  its  lawless- 
ness. It  will  acknowledge  no  rule  but 

"  usus 
Quern  penes  arbitrium  est  et  jus  et  norma  loquendi ; " 

it  will  conform  to  no  analogy  ;  but  its  abundant  life  and  lux- 
uriant growth  push  forth  into  the  most  anomalous  forms  of 
branch,  leaf,  and  fruit.  Nearly  forty  per  cent,  of  its  vocabu- 
lary, it  has  been  computed,  is  Latin  or  Greek  ;  and  only  in  the 
complex  but  regular  structure  of  those  languages  can  we  find 
—  I  will  not  say  a  key  to  its  intricacies,  but  —  a  criterion  and 
instrument  by  which  we  can  trace  its  processes  of  development 
and  measure  its  departures  from  rule. 

English  literature,  too,  is  so  deeply  imbued  with  the  spirit 
of  the  classical  ages  that  a  large  portion  of  it  cannot  be  read 
with  any  enjoyment  or  intelligent  appreciation,  except  under 
the  light  reflected  from  those  stars  of  a  distant  firmament. 
Take  Milton,  for  instance,  in  either  of  his  two  epics  or  in  his 
minor  poems  ;  and,  apart  from  the  gorgeous  diction,  so  redolent 
of  Greece  and  Rome,  you  find  the  very  matter  and  substance 
of  his  verses  so  deeplv  saturated  with  the  classical  aroma.  — 
so  rich  with  allusions,  imitations,  and  illustrations  from  the  old 
perennial  sources,  from  Greek  and  Roman  mythology,  history, 
tragedy,  and  art,  —  that,  take  away  all  recollection  of  these, 
and  the  poet's  coloring  fades,  his  spirit  evaporates,  and  nothing 
remains  but  a  caput  mortuum.  Even  of  his  "  Sampson  Ago- 
nistes  "  it  may  be  affirmed  that  only  the  framework  is  Hebrew  ; 
the  substance,  the  drapery,  the  soul  within,  is  pure  Greek.  —  a 


14  CLASSICAL    AND    UTILITARIAN   STUDIES. 

mere  infusion  of  Sophocles  and  Euripides.  Nearly  as  much 
may  be  said  of  Cowley,  Dryclen,  Gray,  Johnson,  Keats  ;  and 
even  of  large  portions  of  Tennyson,  Mrs.  Barrett,  and  other 
popular  bards  of  our  own  day.  Bacon,  rightly  or  wrongly 
claimed  as  the  founder  of  modern  utilitarian  science,  wrote  half 
of  his  works  in  Latin,  and  decanted  so  much  of  the  classics  into 
his  English  prose,  even  into  his  most  popular  work,  the  Essays, 
as  to  be  well  nigh  unintelligible  to  any  but  a  classical  scholar, 
except  in  a  richly  annotated  edition.  Thomas  Hobbes,  the 
true  master  and  exponent  of  modern  utilitarianism  and  ma- 
terialism, also  wrote  Latin  nearly  half  the  time,  and  spent  his 
youth  on  a  translation  of  Thucydides,  and  his  old  age  on  a 
metrical  version  of  the  Iliad  and  the  Odyssey.  Follow  down 
the  line  of  English  prose  writers  of  any  note,  from  Hooker  and 
Bacon  to  Macaulay  and  Sir  William  Hamilton,  striking  out  of 
each  every  allusion  to  the  classics,  —  every  citation  from  and 
everything  suggested  by  them,  —  and  what  will  remain  but 
ragged  fragments,  alike  destitute  of  coloring,  coherence,  and 
beauty  ? 

Dr.  Bigelow's  Essay  appears  as  a  further  exposition  and  de- 
fence of  the  theory  maintained  in  his  Discourse  on  "  The  Limits 
of  Education,"  pronounced  at  the  opening  of  the  Technological 
Institute ;  and  must  be  viewed  in  connection  also  with  an  able 
"  Lecture  on  Classical  Studies,"  published,  a  short  time  before, 
by  Professor  Atkinson  of  that  establishment.  But  the  pecul- 
iar functions  and  studies  of  that  Institute,  as  it  seems  to  me, 
stand  in  no  need  of  this  indirect  advocacy,  and  will  not  be  pro- 
moted by  depreciating  the  quite  dissimilar  work  and  office  of 
our  American  colleges.  The  great  want  of  special  training  in 
physical  science  and  art,  by  many  who  have  not  the  time, 
means,  or  taste  for  a  full  course  of  liberal  education,  was  recog- 
nized long  since  by  the  friends  of  such  education,  and  was  met, 
over  twenty  years  ago,  by  the  establishment,  first  at  Harvard, 
and  afterwards  at  most  of  our  New  England  colleges,  of  a 
"  Scientific  School,"  open  to  all  who  are  acquainted  with  no 
language  but  their  own,  and  who  desire  to  study  no  other. 
Following  the  example  thus  set,  and  organized  on  precisely  the 
same  plan,  the  educational  department  of  the  Technological 
Institute  has  been  created,  to  meet  the  wants  of  Boston,  for 


CLASSICAL   AND    UTILITARIAN    STUDIES.  15 

whose  youth  it  is  evidently  a  great  convenience  to  be  enabled 
to  pursue  their  studies  and  still  to  live  at  home.  The  design 
is  an  excellent  one,  and  every  friend  of  liberal,  as  well  as  of 
scientific,  studies  will  bid  God-speed  to  the  enterprise.  But 
it  seems  very  injudicious  on  the  part  of  its  special  advocates 
to  attempt  to  recommend  it  still  further  by  maintaining  that 
a  proper  College  education  is  worthless,  or  unsuited  to  the 
wants  of  the  age,  and  a  scientific  one  all-sufficient  for  every- 
body. At  any  rate,  is  it  quite  consistent  for  them,  under  such 
circumstances,  as  soon  as  they  have  created  a  professorship  of 
English  language  and  literature,  to  proceed  to  appoint  to  it  a 
gentleman  who  has  been  an  accomplished  teacher  of  Latin 
and  Greek  for  about  a  quarter  of  a  century,  and  to  fill  neaily 
every  other  professorship  in  the  Institute  by  distinguished  grad- 
uates of  colleges  ?  Such  action  is  an  involuntary  confession, 
on  their  part,  of  the  truth  of  the  doctrine  here  maintained,  — 
that,  whatever  may  be  said  against  the  utility  of  Classical 
Studies,  a  good  proficiency  in  them  is,  at  any  rate,  indispensa- 
ble for  obtaining  or  imparting  any  competent  knowledge  of  the 
English  language  or  its  literature. 

I  should  not  have  alluded  to  this  bit  of  local  history,  if  it 
did  not  further  illustrate  the  importance  to  the  whole  commu- 
nity of  that  course  of  liberal  studies,  in  which  the  classics  oc- 
cupy the  chief  place,  —  of  that  comprehensive,  systematic,  and 
generous  training,  enjoyed  though  it  be  only  by  comparatively 
few,  —  which  no  one  thinks  of  seeking  elsewhere  than  within 

'  O 

the  walls  of  a  college.  It  teaches  the  teachers.  It  breaks  down 
the  partitions,  and  even  the  jealousies,  which  would  otherwise 
sunder  and  impede  labor  in  special  vocations.  By  laying  the 
foundations  broad,  even  if  not  deep, — by  widening  the  range 
of  our  sympathies,  as  well  as  of  our  power  of  comprehension, 
—  by  counteracting  the  necessarily  narrow  and  narrowing  in- 
fluences of  the  division  of  labor  when  applied  to  intellectual 
pursuits,  it  creates,  what  here  in  America,  at  any  rate,  we  are 
in  sore  need  of,  a  literary  and  scientific  public,  able  and  pa- 
tient always  at  least  to  hear,  not- infrequently  qualified  to  un- 
derstand, sometimes  competent  to  judge. 

And  here  I  need  not  wander  far  in  search  of  an  illustration, 
but  may  find  one  in  the  very  constitution  of  this  Academy, 


16  CLASSICAL   AND   UTILITARIAN   STUDIES. 

and  an  echo  in  the  feelings,  as  well  as  the  judgment,  of  every 
gentleman  who  hears  me.  Here,  our  functions  are  as  unexclu- 
sive  as  our  corporate  appellation,  "  The  American  Academy 
of  Arts  and  Sciences,"  which  might  otherwise  perhaps  appear 
somewhat  sweeping  and  pretentious.  Here,  more  and  more 
frequently,  perhaps,  than  in  any  other  assembly  called  to- 
gether at  stated  times  on  this  continent,  we  are  reminded  of 
the  essential  brotherhood  of  all  the  arts  and  sciences  ;  and  this 
truth  cannot  be  felt,  as  well  as  understood,  anywhere  so  well 
as  in  a  society  composed  in  the  main  of  scholars,  —  of  liberally 
educated  men.  I  have  not  sought  out  the  statistics  of  this 
subject,  as  it  would  be  an  impertinence  to  do  so;  but  I  fear 
not  to  avow  the  belief,  that  more  than  three  fourths  of  our 
number  are  graduates  of  colleges.  Neither  can  there  be  any 
fear  lest  I  should  seem  to  be  here  making  an  invidious  distinc- 
tion ;  since  it  appears  from  the  proceedings  of  this  evening,1 
as  well  as  from  the  results  of  several  other  meetings  which  are 
still  recent,  that  what  few  honors  we  have  to  bestow,  our 
Rumford  medals  and  our  elections  to  office,  often  fall  to  the 
share  of  the  small  minority  who  are  more  or  less  self-taught. 
All  the  merit  which  my  argument  requires  me  to  claim  for 
those  of  us  who  have  been  trained  at  college  is,  that  our  Clas- 
sical Studies,  however  little  else  they  may  have  done  for  us, 
have,  at  least,  so  far  liberalized  our  minds  and  increased  our 
power  of  intelligent  apprehension,  that  we  can  gladly  hear, 
and  to  some  small  extent  understand  and  appreciate,  whatever 
is  done  to  extend  the  bounds  even  of  the  most  recondite  and 
difficult  sciences.  We  cannot  make  telescopes,  probably  could 
not  adjust  or  use  them  when  made;  but  we  can  honor  those 
who  have  this  power,  and  are  thereby  enabled  to  pierce  far- 
ther into  the  remote  secrets  of  God's  universe  than  mortal  eye 
ever  saw  before.  Our  Latin  and  Greek,  however  imperfectly 
remembered,  serve  at  least  to  remind  us,  during  the  some- 
what abstruse  and  otherwise  forbidding  expositions  and  dis- 
cussions to  which  we  often  listen  here,  that  all  the  sciences, 
whether  they  date  from  Aristotle  and  Hipparchus,  or  from 

1  At  tliis  inoctinjr  of  the  Academy,  the  Kumford  Medal  was  delivered  to  Mr. 
Alvan  Clark,  of  Cambridgeport,  for  improvements  made  by  him  in  the  coustruc- 
tioii  of  lenses  for  refracting  telescopes. 


CLASSICAL   AND   UTILITARIAN   STUDIES.  17 

this  nineteenth  century,  whether  the  latest  improvements  in 
them  come  from  Italy,  Germany,  France,  England,  or  the 
United  States,  still  speak  a  common  language,  and  that  one 
which  we  learned  when  we  were  boys,  and  which  calls  up  a 
rush  of  pleasant  memories.  We  can  hear,  not  only  without 
flinching,  but  even  with  gleams  of  significance  and  delight, 
Professor  Peirce  discourse  about  quaternions,  isoperimetrics, 
loxodromics,  and  brachystochrones ;  or  you,  Sir,1  of  exogens, 
endogens,  phyllotaxis,  epiphytes,  dichotomous,  pentdgynous, 
and  pentandrous  plants ;  or  Mr.  Agassiz,  of  digitigrades,  aca- 
leplis,  gasteropods,  ceplialopods,  pachyderms,  echinoderms,  and 
other  "gorgons  and  chimaaras  dire;"  and  even  Dr.  Bigelow, 
talking  Greek  in  spite  of  himself,  by  lecturing  about  diagno- 
sis, prognosis,  prophylactics,  ancesthetics,  endemics,  epidemics, 
and  sporadics.  Yet  further,  though  physical  science,  in  the 
intoxication  of  great  success,  has  been  somewhat  encroaching 
and  domineering  of  late,  even  logic  and  metaphysics  are  per- 
mitted at  least  to  Avhisper  of  subsumptions,  epicheiremas,  sori- 
tes, and  the  quantification  of  predicates ;  or  of  ontology,  ente- 
lechy,  noumena,  apperception,  teleology,  and  synthetic  cognitions 
d  priori.  These,  and  ten  thousand  others  like  them,  are  not 
merely  intelligible  as  simple  appellatives  or  single  words,  with 
a  sort  of  classical  fragrance  about  them,  but  in  their  composite 
character  they  are  concise  definitions  or  descriptions,  which 
stir  the  imagination  and  the  memory,  as  well  as  the  intellect 
proper.  As  quaint  old  Fuller  says,  to  us  "the  joints  of  these 
compound  words  are  so  naturally  oiled,  that  they  run  nimbly 
on  the  tongue,  which  makes  them,  though  long,  never  tedious, 
because  significant."  But  to  those  who  have  no  tincture  of 
classical  learning,  whether  addressed  to  the  ear  or  the  eye, 
they  are  only  sesquipedalian  agglutinations  of  syllables,  as  lit- 
tle significant  as  abracadabra  or  Chrononhotouthologos. 

Any  one  who  should  fancy  that  they  are  too  numerous,  cum- 
bersome, and  pedantic,  or  that  they  might  be  replaced  by  pithy 
English  words,  may  be  assured  that  his  education  in  any  one 
science  has  not  yet  reached  the  pons  asinorum.  These  for- 
midable polysyllables  are  "  a  kind  of  short-hand  of  the  science, 

1  "Dr.  Asa  Gray,  Professor  of  Botany  in  Harvard  College,  and  Dr.  BL'elow'a 
successor  as  President  of  the  American  Academy. 
•2 


18  CLASSICAL   AXD   UTILITARIAN   STUDIES. 

or  algebraic  notation  ;  "  and  without  them,  the  investigator 
would  be  as  helpless  as  an  algebraist  or  chemist  without  his 
symbols,  or  an  arithmetician  without  the  Arabic  numerals.  In 
the  last  analysis,  all  science,  whether  physical  or  moral,  is  noth- 
ing but  skilful  classification ;  and  without  a  curiously  com- 
pounded nomenclature  and  terminology,  which  can  be  built  up 
only  from  Latin  or  Greek  roots,  classification  would  be  but  an- 
other name  for  confusion.  And  for  this  use,  it  does  not  matter 
much  that  most  of  us  retain  but  a  very  dim  memory  of  our 
studies  at  school  and  college  ;  as  almost  numberless  compounds 
can  be  formed  by  ringing  the  changes  on  a  very  few  elements, 
a  mere  smattering  of  the  classical  vocabulary,  such  as  is  kept 
up  almost  involuntarily  by  reading  common  English  prose  and 
poetry,  suffices  to  interpret  these  scientific  shibboleths.  A  very 
few  prepositions  often  repeated,  a  small  stock  of  adjectives, 
also  frequently  recurrent,  and  a  moderate  supply  of  the  most 
familiar  nouns  are  forged  into  the  keys  which  unlock  every 
coffer  in  the  treasure-house. 

Intelligent  companionship,  appreciation,  and  sympathy,  such 
as  the  scientific  associations  constituted  like  this  Academy  are 
enabled  to  afford,  through  the  fact  that  all  the  sciences  speak 
what  may  be  called  a  common  language,  together  with  the 
secret  consciousness  of  the  far  wider  companionship  and  sym- 
pathy which  is  kept  alive  by  finding  this  scientific  vocabulary 
also  common  to  nearly  all  civilized  nations,  though  in  ordinary 
discourse  they  use  a  babel  of  diverse  tongues,  furnish  an  al- 
most indispensable  encouragement  for  persistent  scientific  effort 
and  research.  The  greatest  need  of  the  savant  at  the  present 
day,  especially  in  the  more  recondite  branches  of  inquiry,  as  it 
seems  to  me,  is  the  need  of  an  audience.  He  is  in  no  danger 
of  starving  ;  the  age  and  the  country  have  at  least  raised  him 
above  that  peril.  Books  are  always  at  hand,  and  even  labora- 
tories and  museums  are  frequent.  But  isolate  him  altogether 
in  his  work,  cut  oil  his  readers  and  hearers,  as  Dr.  Bigelow 
proposes  to  do,  first  by  breaking  up  the  comprehensive  scheme 
of  studies  at  college,  where  alone  one  comes  to  know  a  little 
of  almost  everything,  and  then  by  cutting  up  from  the  roots 
the  common  language  of  the  learned,  and  you  dishearten  him 

»/ 

altogether  :  you  reduce  him  first  to  silence,  and  finally  to  in- 
action. 


CLASSICAL   AND   UTILITARIAN   STUDIES.  19 

How  important  this  community  of  scientific  terms  among 
all  cultivated  languages  is  to  the  savant,  may  be  seen  from 
the  example  of  the  only  nation  in  Europe  which  seems  to 
be  under  no  necessity  of  building  up  its  technicalities  out  of 
the  dead  languages.  Alone  among  all  modern  tongues,  the 
German  fully  rivals  the  Greek  in  its  power  of  forming  com- 
pounds without  limit  from  native  roots  ;  and  it  has  used  this 
power  to  a  considerable  extent,  by  employing  such  words  as 
Sauerstoff,  Wasserstoff,  Kohlstoff,  and  Stickstoff^  instead  of  ox- 
ygen, hydrogen,  carbon,  and  nitrogen.  But,  convenient  at 
home  as  such  a  vocabulary  certainly  is,  and  flattering  to  na- 
tional pride,  it  is  found  to  place  too  great  a  bar  upon  their 
freedom  of  scientific  intercourse  with  other  nations  ;  and  hence 
their  list  of  such  terms  has  never  been  completed,  and  it  is 
but  in  partial  use  even  as  far  as  it  goes.  So  true  is  it  what 
Homer  says,  as  cited  and  applied  to  illustrate  this  very  point 
both  by  Plato  and  Aristotle,  that 

"By  mutual  confidence  and  mutual  aid, 
Great  deeds  are  done,  and  great  discoveries  made." 

Because  the  sciences  in  these  modern  times  have  been  multi- 
plied and  enlarged,  and  the  arts  increased,  Dr.  Bigelow  argues 
that  any  liberal  and  comprehensive  culture  of  mind,  such  as  is 
attempted  in  our  colleges  through  a  course  of  general  studies, 
has  become  impracticable.  To  adopt  his  own  metaphor,  as 
"  the  educational  loaf  on  which  the  community  is  fed ''  has 
been  so  much  enlarged,  he  will  not  allow  to  classical  literature 
even  a  fragment  of  the  crust.  And  further,  because  the  di- 
vision of  labor  has  been  profitable  in  mechanical  pursuits,  he 
affirms  that  pupils  cannot  "  undertake  to  make  themselves 
competent  representatives  of  all  the  various  sciences,  the  lit- 
erary studies,  the  languages  dead  and  living,  which  are  now 
professedly  taught  in  our  colleges  and  seminaries."  Of  course 
they  cannot ;  but  in  view  of  that  solidarity  of  the  sciences, 
which  every  day's  progress  is  making  more  evident,  the  real 
question  is,  whether  a  student  can  become  a  "competent  repre- 
sentative "  of  any  one  science,  without  that  very  general  cult- 
ure of  mind  which  is  nowhere  attempted  but  in  college  :  or 
whether  any  one  scientific  or  literary  pursuit  would  flourish 
and  expand,  if  each  were  isolated,  none  but  its  special  votaries 


20  CLASSICAL   AND    UTILITARIAN   STUDIES. 

having  any  acquaintance  with  it  whatever,  and  these  being 
doomed,  like  each  class  of  artisans  in  a  big  workshop,  to  spend 
their  lives  intellectually  in  making  the  eighteenth  part  of  a  pin. 
Dr.  Bigelow's  scheme  of  a  scientific  education  begins  by  de- 
priving the  student  of  the  common  language  of  all  the  sci- 
ences, proceeds  by  leaving  him  without  any  scientific  public, 
either  at  home  or  abroad,  competent  to  hear  and  judge  his 
work,  and  ends  by  requiring  him  to  mount  to  the  mast-head 
after  he  has  taken  away  all  the  shrouds.  Such  a  scheme  might 
produce  a  chemist,  though  I  doubt  it ;  but  it  certainly  would 
not  make  even  the  eighteenth  part  of  a  man.  And  yet  the 
Essayist  complains  of  sciolism.  Why,  the  worst  sort  of  sciol- 
ism, and  one  with  which  we  are  peculiarly  afflicted  in  this 
country,  is,  that  men  assume  to  be  scientific  chemists  on  an 
amount  of  general  knowledge  which  would  hardly  qualify 
them  to  be  decent  apothecaries  ;  or  prate  about  the  most  dif- 
ficult problems  in  geology,  before  they  know  enough  of  botany 
or  zoology  to  pronounce  on  the  character  of  a  single  fossil. 
Yet  the  starved  and  miserly  training  which  breeds  such  pre- 
tenders we  are  now  invited  to  substitute  for  the  liberal  and 
comprehensive  culture,  which  aims  to  develop  all  the  faculties, 
and  thereby  to  "fit  a  man  to  perform  justly,  skilfully,  and 
magnanimously  all  the  offices,  both  private  and  public,  of  peace 
and  war." 

I  appeal  to  your  own  favorite  science,  Sir.  What  sort  of  a 
botanist  is  he,  who  knows  nothing  of  physiology  ;  or  how 
much  physiology  can  he  acquire,  if  he  is  not  something  of 
a  chemist ;  or  what  is  chemistry,  if  not  based  on  physics  ;  or 
can  one  become  a  physicist  without  a  competent  acquaintance 
with  mathematics  ;  and  how  much  time  and  labor  must  be 
spent  on  the  very  elements  —  the  far-extended  vocabulary  and 
notation  —  of  each  of  these  sciences,  by  one  whose  total  igno- 
rance of  Latin  and  Greek  obliges  him  to  master  them,  as  it 
were,  mechanically  and  by  main  strength,  just  as  he  would 
commit  to  memory  whole  pages  of  a  dictionary  ?  I  suspect 
the  first  lesson  you  would  assign  him  in  botany  would  be  the 
first  six  pages  of  the  Latin  Grammar,  —  to  be  taken  on  an 
empty  stomach. 

Besides,  in  the  argument  we  are  now  considering,  it  is  for- 


CLASSICAL   AND    UTILITARIAN   STUDIES.  21 

gotten  that  a  process  of  generalization,  condensation,  and  elim- 
ination takes  place,  at  least  pari  passu,  generally  in  advance, 
of  every  step  of  progress  in  science.  Often,  indeed,  the  prog- 
ress consists  in  this  process  of  "  boiling  down  "  the  previous 
results  ;  one  general  law  takes  the  place  of  a  multitude  of 
formerly  isolated  facts.  Hence  it  is,  as  has  been  often  re- 
marked, that  an  undergraduate  in  college  may  now  easily  ac- 
quire mathematical  truths  and  formulas  which  Newton  was 
ignorant  of ;  he  must  know  more  astronomy  than  Copernicus 
did,  and  more  physics  than  Galileo ;  and  he  makes  these  at- 
tainments, too,  with  less  than  half  the  time  and  effort  which 
it  cost  the  contemporaries  of  those  illustrious  men  to  rise  even 
to  the  level  of  their  own  day.  And  if  we  are  to  adopt  the 
mode  of  estimating  relative  merit  which  the  Essayist  coolly 
applies  to  the  ancients  and  moderns,  acting  on  the  maxim  that 
a  living  dog  is  better  than  a  dead  lion,  it  follows  that  our 
school-boys  are  to  be  preferred  over  the  great  discoverers  of 
truth,  the  teachers  of  the  world. 

Dr.  Bigelow  affirms  that  "  the  world  mainly  owes  its  present 
advanced  and  civilized  state  to  the  influence  of  certain  phys- 
ical discoveries  and  inventions,  of  comparatively  recent  date, 
among  which  are  conspicuous  the  printing-press,  the  mariner's 
compass,  the  steam-engine,"  etc.  And,  in  speaking  of  those 
great  events  which  are  usually  considered  as  marking  the  ori- 
gin of  modern  civilization,  namely,  the  Reformation,  the  exo- 
dus of  Greeks  from  Constantinople,  and  the  revival  of  letters, 
• —  two  of  these,  be  it  observed,  being  only  names  for  the  re- 
vival of  Classical  Studies,  especially  of  Greek,  —  he  still  as- 
serts, that  "  at  the  root  of  all  these  agencies,  and  deep  and  far 
beyond  and  above  them,  was  the  vivifying  nurture  of  utilita- 
rian science."  If  so,  it  is  somewhat  remarkable  that  the  effect 
preceded  the  cause  bv  about  a  century,  since  the  dawn  of  mod- 
ern utilitarian  science  cannot  be  placed  earlier  than  the  age  of 
Bacon  and  Galileo,  at  the  very  close  of  the  sixteenth  century, 
when  the  three  great  agencies  in  question  had  been  at  work 
about  a  hundred  years. 

But  let  this  pass,  as  I  would  call  attention  only  to  the  main 
doctrine  here  and  elsewhere  propounded  bv  the  Essayist, 
which,  like  Mr.  Buckle's  theory 5  makes  civilization  itself  mainly 


22  CLASSICAL   AND   UTILITARIAN   STUDIES. 

consist  in  such  things  as  gas-lights,  steam-engines,  sewing-ma- 
chines, photographs,  and  vulcanized  India-rubber.  I  reject  the 
definition  altogether.  Not  what  men  have,  but  what  they 
think  and  believe,  or,  rather,  what  they  are,  are  at  once  the 
tokens  of  their  culture  and  the  sources  of  their  strength. 
Turn  a  civilized  community  naked  into  a  wilderness  or  a  des- 
ert, and  they  will  be  a  civilized  community  still  ;  and  their 
hands,  guided  by  their  minds,  will  subdue  that  wilderness  and 
turn  that  desert  into  a  garden.  The  Athenians,  in  the  age  of 
Pericles,  had  not  one  of  these  soi-disant  material  and  tangible 
means  and  agents  of  civilization  ;  but  those  Athenians,  saving 
only  their  lack  of  one  element,  which  originated  in  Palestine 
some  four  hundred  years  afterwards,  were  the  most  highly  civ- 
ilized people  the  world  has  ever  known  ;  and  their  works,  their 
arts,  their  literature,  their  philosophy,  have  fed  and  colored, 
from  within  outwards,  the  civilization  of  all  succeeding  times. 
The  men  of  that  age  and  place  are  even  now 

"  the  dead,  but  sceptred,  sovrans, 
Who  still  rule  our  spirits  from  their  urns." 

As  Sir  William  Hamilton  tells  us,  "every  learner  in  science  is 
now  familiar  with  more  truths  than  Aristotle  or  Plato  ever 
dreamt  of  knowing ;  yet,  compared  with  the  Stagirite  or  the 
Athenian,  how  few  even  of  our  masters  of  modern  science  rank 
any  higher  than  intellectual  barbarians  !  " 

After  all,  have  these  recent  physical  discoveries  and  inven- 
tions contributed  so  largely,  even  to  our  material  well-being, 
that  we  can  fairly  consider  them  as  the  glories  of  modern  civil- 
ization? Have  most  of  them  had  any  other  effect  than  to  feed 
man's  vanity  and  nourish  sterile  wonder  ?  Take,  for  example, 
one  of  the  most  brilliant  and  striking  of  the  whole  number,  and 
one  to  which  abstruse  science  most  largely  contributed,  —  the 
discovery  of  Neptune.  What  matters  it  to  you  or  me  person- 
ally, or  to  any  human  being,  or  even  to  the  other  members  of 
the  solar  system  itself,  that,  on  its  outmost  verge,  some  two 
thousand  eight  hundred  millions  of  miles  from  us,  and  so 
hardly  perceptible  to  the  unaided  vision  as  a  faint  dot  in  the 
evening  skies,  there  is  a  planet  called  Neptune,  of  which  we 
know  nothing  whatever,  except  that  it  is  there,  and  that  it 
circles  steadily  at  a  measurable  rate  round  the  sun  ?  I  have 


CLASSICAL   AND    UTILITARIAN   STUDIES.  23 

heard  a  remark  quoted  from  a  queer  little  girl,  who  said  she 
was  afraid  to  ask  her  Sunday-school  teacher,  who  Nimrod  was, 
for  fear  he  should  tell  her,  and  it  would  be  so  useless  to  know. 
So  I  am  afraid  to  ask  Professor  Winlock,  director  of  the  Har- 
vard Observatory,  if  he  has  recently  ascertained,  through  his 
big  telescope,  whether  Neptune  is  still  extant  in  his  proper 
place,  or  whether  he  has  seceded,  —  gone  off,  in  a  hyperbolic 
or  parabolic  curve,  never  to  come  back  again.  I  am  afraid  to 
ask,  lest  he  should  tell  me,  and  it  would  be  so  useless  to  know. 
Why,  if  Neptilne  himself  should  threaten  such  secession,  I 
doubt  not  that  the  other  planets,  in  solemn  congress  assembled, 
would  say  to  him,  "  Erring  brothei1,  depart  in  peace  ;  it  is  a 
matter  of  profound  indifference  to  us,  whether  you  go  or 
stay." 

And  then  the  telegraph.  For  a  year  or  two,  we  have  all 
been  shouting,  at  the  top  of  our  voices,  "  Great  is  the  Atlantic 
telegraph,  and  Cyrus  W.  Field  is  its  prophet !  "  But  here, 
again,  we  forget  to  ask  what  the  thing  is  worth,  in  the  great- 
ness of  our  astonishment  that  it  should  be  done  at  all.  Like 
the  fly  in  amber,  — 

"  The  thing  itself  is  neither  rich  nor  rare  ; 
But  wonder  how  the  devil  it  got  there." 

What  has  the  Atlantic  telegraph  done  for  us  ?  It  has  given 
us  news  from  Europe  less  than  a  day  old,  instead  of  the  same 
news  ten  or  twelve  days  old.  But  the  intelligence  does  not 
lose  its  distinctive  character  as  news,  through  the  greater  or 
less  time  occupied  in  its  transmission.  I  never  heard  that 
news  were  like  eggs,  liable,  if  kept  over  ten  days,  to  become 
addled.  Let  me  not  undervalue  the  good  sometimes  done  by 
the  telegraph.  It  has  played  an  important,  even  an  indispensa- 
ble, part  in  the  apprehension  of  John  H.  Surratt.  Once  in  a 
great  while,  it  is  a  tolerable  catchpole,  an  efficient  subsidiary 
agent  to  the  state's  prison  and  the  gallows.  By  its  means,  we 
now  have  Surratt  safe  in  irons,  and  can  bring  him  to  fair  trial  ; 
though,  at  this  late  day,  I  suppose,  very  few  persons  care 
whether  the  miserable  wretch  is  hanged  or  not.1 

1  He  was  not  hanged.  On  lug  trial  as  a  supposed  accomplice  in  the  murder  of 
President  Lincoln,  the  jury  virtually  found  that  the  offence  was  "not  proven." 
Surratt  was  set  free,  and  became  an  itinerant  lecturer. 


24  CLASSICAL   AND   UTILITARIAN   STUDIES. 

Because  the  ancients  had  none  of  these  things,  —  no  tele- 
graphs, newspapers,  chloroform,  or  lucifer-match.es,  —  it  is 
charged  against  them  that  their  civilization  was  narrow  and  bar- 
ren, and,  "  in  their  domestic  habits,  they  were  primitive,  des- 
titute, and  uncleanly."  This  whole  accusation  may  be  summed 
up  in  the  old  sarcasm  against  the  Emperor  Augustus,  that, 
"  with  all  his  splendor,  he  had  no  glass  in  his  windows  and  not 
a  shirt  to  his  back." 

Here  is  the  utilitarian  idea  of  civilization  !  It  does  not  con- 
sist in  the  might  of  intellect,  nor  in  the  beauty  of  poetry,  nor 
in  the  power  of  oratory,  nor  in  the  skill  of  statesmanship,  nor 
in  the  graces  of  sculpture  and  architecture,  nor  in  the  wisdom 
of  philosophy,  nor  in  the  depths  of  abstract  science.  No. 
Civilization  —  true,  modern  civilization  —  consists  in  none  of 
these  things  ;  for,  in  each  and  all  of  them,  unluckily,  the  men 
of  the  Periclean  and  the  Augustan  age  were  undoubtedly  our 
equals,  if  not  our  superiors.  But  civilization  —  the  genuine 
modern  article  —  consists  in  glass  windows  and  linen  shirts. 
As  to  the  two  assertions  contained  in  this  sarcasm  against  the 
Emperor,  I  may  as  well  mention,  in  a  parenthesis,  that  they  are 
not  more  than  half-true.  Long  before  the  time  of  Augustus, 
the  Romans  had  glass  enough  to  stock  a  modern  fashionable 
apothecary's  shop  ;  though  they  seem  to  have  used  it  chiefly 
for  bottling,  not  their  medicines  or  their  wines,  but  their  tears. 
If  they  did  not  put  it  in  their  windows,  it  was  probably  for  the 
same  reason  that  half  of  the  Italians  at  the  present  day  do  not 
put  it  there,  —  because  the  climate  does  not  require  it.  I  sus- 
pect glass  windows  are  an  indispensable  condition  of  civiliza- 
tion only  in  high  latitudes.  As  to  the  other  alleged  fact,  if 
having  a  shirt  means,  as  I  suppose  it  does,  wearing  linen  next 
the  skin,  it  is  singular  enough  that,  within  a  few  years,  nearly 
all  of  us,  for  hygienic  reasons,  have  discarded  linen,  and  gone 
back  to  the  old  Augustan  dress,  —  fine  wool  or  silk  next  the 
skin.  In  the  sense  of  this  sarcasm,  if  it  has  any  sense,  I  doubt 
whether  a  single  gentleman  here  present  has  a  shirt  to  his 
back.  To  the  Union  army,  consisting  of  over  a  million  of  men 
at  the  close  of  the  late  war,  I  believe  Falstaff's  account  of  his 
own  troop  was  applicable,  —  that  there  was  but  a  shirt  and  a 
half  in  the  whole  company. 


CLASSICAL   AND    UTILITARIAN   STUDIES.  25 

Even  if  it  be  granted  that  the  glory  of  modern  times  is  its 
mechanical  inventions,  it  may  well  be  doubted  whether  the 
study  of  physical  science,  and  the  establishment  of  Technological 
Institutes,  will  lead  to  their  multiplication  or  improvement. 
The  fact  is  notorious,  that  most  of  these  are  the  results  of  acci- 
dent, or  have  been  made  by  unlearned  men,  chiefly  by  ingen- 
ious artisans.  Even  the  disposition  which  seeks  for  them,  and 
the  course  of  experiments  instituted  for  their  attainment,  are 
unfavorable  to  habits  of  scientific  research  ;  for  gold,  not  truth, 
is  the  object  in  view  ;  and  though  some  general  fact  or  law  of 
nature  may  incidentally  be  developed,  the  mind  was  not  on  the 
watch  for  it,  and  it  will  probably  be  overlooked  or  forgotten. 
If  you  would  train  up  inventors,  educate  your  sons  at  the 
blacksmith's  forge  or  the  carpenter's  bench,  in  watch-factories, 
cotton-mills,  or  machine-shops.  These  were  the  schools  in 
which  Arkwright,  Watt,  Stephenson,  Paul  Moody,  Howe, 
Hobbs,  McCormick,  Edison,  and  Goodyear  studied.  Sir  Hum- 
phrey Davy  received  great  laudation  for  the  safety  lamp; 
but  it  is  now  known  that  he  was  anticipated  in  it,  several 
years,  by  a  sooty  son  of  the  mine,  who,  at  the  time,  was  hardly 
able  to  write  his  name.  History  has  not  even  recorded  the 
authorship  or  the  date  of  some  most  useful  contrivances  and 
processes,  and  has  left  others  in  dispute ;  such  as  glass,  the 
mariner's  compass,  gunpowder,  and  the  printing-press;  proba- 
bly because  their  inventors  were  ignorant  and  obscure  men, 
who  did  not  even  know  the  worth  of  what  they  had  accom- 
plished. The  very  process  of  invention  is  often  blindly  tenta- 
tive, and  success  in  it  is  a  mere  accident,  as  in  hunting  for  a 
needle  in  a  hay-mow ;  after  you  have  sought  it  in  vain  for  a 
week,  there  comes  along  a  clown  who  thrusts  his  hand  into 
the  mow,  and  pricks  his  finger  with  it  at  the  first  trial. 

Science,  it  is  true,  has  an  office  to  perform ;  but  generally  it 
is  one  which  is  subsequent  to  the  invention,  and  which  consists 
in  explaining  the  rationale  of  the  process,  by  pointing  out  the 
laws  of  nature  through  which  the  result  was  obtained.  But 
even  in  this  subsidiary  function,  it  is  often  baffled  and  lags  far 
behind  inventive  art.  Why  should  caoutchouc  and  sulphur, 
moderately  heated  and  rubbed  together,  produce  that  marvel- 
lous and  most  useful  compound,  vulcanized  India-rubber  ?  The 


26  CLASSICAL   AND   UTILITARIAN   STUDIES. 

chemist  does  not  know ;  and  he  is  equally  ignorant  in  respect 
to  many  of  the  processes  in  metallurgy  and  pharmacy.  Why 
is  cinchona  a  potent  febrifuge?  Ask  the  Peruvian  Indians, 
who  first  taught  our  doctors  how  to  use  it. 

These  facts,  if  rightly  weighed,  do  not  discredit  physical 
science,  and  certainly  are  not  here  cited  for  that  purpose.  But 
they  do  manifest  the  pitiable  folly  —  I  had  almost  said,  the 
impiety  —  of  measuring  the  value  either  of  physics  or  meta- 
physics, chemistry  or  philology,  by  a  low  utilitarian  standard ; 
of  estimating  our  proper  mental  food  by  its  casual  and  indirect 
results  in  fattening  our  bodies,  or  pampering  our  lower  appe- 
tites and  desires.  In  this  Academy,  at  least,  I  dare  assert  that 
the  ultimate  object  of  scientific  research  is  not  any  external 
good,  but  knowledge  for  the  sake  of  knowing ;  and  let  it  be  re- 
membered, in  behalf  of  the  classics,  that  this  great  truth  has 
at  least  the  verdict  of  all  antiquity  in  its  favor,  though  it  is 
too  often  forgotten  or  slighted  in  this  nineteenth  century.  It 
is  only  a  corollary  from  this  maxim,  but  one  specially  applica- 
ble to  the  subject  of  education,  to  say,  that  the  mere  effort  to 
know  is  of  more  worth  to  the  individual  who  makes  it,  than 
the  knowledge  acquired.  The  chief  object  of  education,  as  it 
seems  to  me,  is  not  to  multiply  inventions,  but  to  develop  the 
intellect  and  form  the  character.  "  The  intellect,"  says  Aris- 
totle, as  cited  by  Hamilton,  "  is  perfected  not  by  knowledge, 
but  by  activity."  But  as  Aristotle  was  an  old  Greek,  whose 
authority  will  be  disputed,  I  will  rather  cite  one  who  is  a  mod- 
ern Aristotle,  at  least  in  the  estimation  of  his  admirers, — the 
great  hierophant  of  Positive  science,  —  Auguste  Comte  ;  who 
tells  us,  that  "  les  homines  ont  encore  plus  besoin  de  mStliodc 
que  de  doctrine,  d1  education  que  d"1  instruction "  [men  stand 
much  more  in  need  of  the  method,  than  of  the  matter,  of 
learning,  —  of  education,  or  the  means  of  drawing  something 
out  of  the  mind,  than  of  instruction,  or  the  means  of  putting 
something  into  it].  Or  take  the  same  meaning  in  Greek,  in 
which  form  I  well  know  it  will  best  please  the  Essayist ;  ol 

(^lAocroc^i'a,  aAAa  (ftiXocrofalv. 

Every  generation  of  civilized  men  inherits  the  intellectual 
wealth,  the  mechanical  contrivances  and  the  useful  arts,  of  all 
the  ages  and  the  nations  which  have  preceded  it ;  but  the  nat> 


CLASSICAL  AND   UTILITARIAN  STUDIES.  27 

ural  wonder  and  self-complacency  with  which  men  view  their 
own  achievements,  often  prevent  them  from  estimating  fairly 
the  extent  of  their  patrimony.  When  the  Essayist  shouts  and 
claps  his  hands  at  the  feats  of  modern  science,  he  may  be  re- 
minded of  the  witty  reply  made  by  the  elder  Astor,  of  New 
York,  who,  when  mildly  reproved  for  not  contributing  so 
largely  to  some  public  object  as  his  own  son  had  done, 
answered,  "  That  is  not  a  fair  example  ;  lie  has  a  rich  father." 
Scholars  will  not  admit  that  the  attainments  of  the  Greeks 
and  Romans  in  practical  science  and  art  were  inconsiderable, 
or  tbat  their  every-day  life  was  meagre,  uncleanly,  or  comfort- 
less. We  still  teach  in  our  schools  and  colleges,  essentially  in 
its  original  form,  the  geometry  of  Euclid  and  Archimedes,  and 
the  fundamental  principles  of  mechanics,  hydrostatics,  and 
optics,  as  originally  expounded  by  them.  The  discovery  of 
the  principle  of  specific  gravity  by  the  latter,  and  its  applica- 
tion by  him  in  determining  the  amount  of  alloy  in  base 
metals,  was  perhaps  the  most  important  single  step  that  was 
ever  taken  in  physical  science ;  while  his  writings,  and  his 
noted  exclamation,  that  he  would  move  the  universe  if  he 
could  find  a  fulcrum,  show  how  clearly  he  understood  the  me- 
chanical powers.  His  defence  of  Syracuse  for  three  years, 
against  the  legions  of  Marcellus,  was  as  marvellous  a  display 
of  the  resources  of  physical  science  and  mechanical  ingenuity 
in  war,  as  the  modern  sieges  of  Sebastopol  and  Charleston  ; 
and  his  affecting  exclamation  when  the  Roman  sword  had 
already  reached  his  neck,  "Do  not  efface  my  diagrams,"  places 
his  name  at  the  head  of  the  list  of  the  illustrious  martyrs  of 
science.  Eratosthenes  measured  the  obliquity  of  the  ecliptic, 
and  a  degree  on  one  of  the  earth's  meridians,  with  an  astonish- 
ing approach  to  accuracy,  thereby  virtually  determining  the 
circumference  of  the  globe,  though  he  had  hardly  any  better 
instrument  than  a  sun-dial.  Hipparchus  detected  the  preces- 
sion of  the  equinoxes,  worked  out  the  doctrine  of  the  sphere, 
and  the  first  ideas  of  plane  and  spherical  trigonometry,  noticed 
the  parallax  of  the  sun  and  moon,  calculated  lunar  and  solar 
tables,  and  predicted  eclipses  with  great  accuracy,  and  by  a 
method  which  is  still  in  use  in  the  higher  mathematics,  and  of 
which  Whewell  says,  that  it  is  "  not  only  good,  but,  in  many 


28  CLASSICAL   AND    UTILITARIAN   STUDIES. 

cases,  no  better  has  yet  been  discovered."  Strabo  and  Ptol- 
emy are  still  high  authorities  in  geography,  the  latter  having 
determined  the  mathematical  principles  of  projection,  and 
constructed  maps,  charts,  and  almanacs  with  great  correctness. 
Hippocrates  and  Galen  are  still  quoted  as  in  high  repute  among 
medical  writers,  and  whole  cases  of  surgical  instruments  have 
been  found  at  Pompeii.  The  Julian  correction  of  the  calendar 
was  not  perfect ;  but  England  had  no  better  till  the  reign  of 
George  II. 

In  further  support  of  the  conclusion  which  I  seek  to  estab- 
lish, I  will  cite  an  authority  that  Dr.  Bigelow  will  surely 
respect,  as  it  is  that  of  the  arch-utilitarian  of  our  times,  the 
acknowledged  chief  of  the  clan,  and  confessedly  one  of  the 
greatest  thinkers,  as  well  as  one  of  the  great  scholars,  of 
our  day;  I  mean  John  S.  Mill.  Speaking  of  the  Greeks,  he 
says  :  "  They  were  the  beginners  of  nearly  everything,  Chris- 
tianity excepted,  of  which  the  modern  world  makes  its  boast. 
They  were  the  first  people  who  had  a  historical  literature,  as 
perfect  of  its  kind  (though  not  the  highest  kind)  as  their  ora- 
tory, their  poetry,  their  sculpture,  their  architecture.  They 
were  the  founders  of  mathematics,  of  physics,  of  the  inductive 
study  of  politics,  so  early  exemplified  in  Aristotle,  of  the  phi- 
losophy of  human  nature  and  life.  These  things  were  effected 
in  two  centuries  of  national  existence ;  twenty,  and  upwards, 
have  since  elapsed,  and  it  is  sad  to  think  liow  little,  compara- 
tively, has  been  accomplished" 

As  early  as  the  time  of  the  Kings,  Rome  seems  to  have  been 
as  thoroughly  drained  by  common  sewers,  of  marvellous  size 
and  solidity  of  workmanship,  as  the  best  of  our  modern  cities. 
Before  the  age  of  the  Emperors,  its  magnificent  aqueducts, 
some  of  them  still  in  use,  gave  it  a  better  supply  of  pure  water 
than  any  modern  city  had  thirty  years  ago,  and  better  than 
London  has  now  :  while  the  number  and  magnificence  of  its 
public  baths  indicate  that  its  inhabitants  highly  prized  the  vir- 
tue of  cleanliness.  Their  roads  were  so  skilfully  and  solidly 
constructed,  that,  after  being  two  thousand  years  in  use,  their 
remains  still  challenge  the  admiration  of  modern  engineers. 
Their  masonry  and  brick-work  are  equal,  if  not  superior,  to 
the  best  constructions  of  our  own  day.  The  arts  of  agdcult- 


CLASSICAL   AND   UTILITARIAN   STUDIES.  29 

ure,  ship-building,  tanning,  and  metallurgy  were  highly  de- 
veloped among  them,  and  they  furnished  the  models  of  some  of 
our  most  graceful  forms  of  parlor  furniture.  Indeed,  to  one 
who  has  strolled  through  the  streets  and  buildings  of  Pompeii, 
and  inspected  the  collections  in  the  Royal  Museum  at  Naples, 
where  the  kitchen  utensils  and  contents  of  the  shops  of  this 
disinterred  city  have  been  brought  together,  or  visited  the  re- 
mains of  the  magnificent  villas  that  once  studded  the  coast 
around  Raise  and  Cape  Misenum,  the  assertion,  that  the  an- 
cients had  made  little  progress  in  the  useful  arts,  and  that,  in 
their  "  domestic  habits,  they  were  primitive,  destitute,  and  un- 
cleanly," will  appear  equally  amusing  and  extravagant.  If  it 
be  answered  that  these  comforts  and  luxuries,  after  all,  be- 
longed only  to  the  privileged  few,  and  afford  little  indication  * 
of  the  number  and  welfare  of  the  bulk  of  the  people,  I  reply 
by  pointing  to  the  number  and  condition  of  those  who  are  em- 
phatically called  the  "  dangerous  classes  "  in  London,  Liver- 
pool, Glasgow,  and  New  York ;  to  the  dens  of  filth  and  wretched- 
ness which  they  inhabit,  and  to  the  social  state  of  three-fourths 
of  the  Irish  people ;  and  ask,  if  your  boastful  modern  civiliza- 
tion has  much  reason  to  plume  itself  on  the  comparison  ? 

I  have  occupied,  Sir,  too  much  of  the  Academy's  time,  and 
far  more  than  would  have  been  necessary,  if  the  question  had 
concerned  only  the  relative  merits  of  ancient  and  modern  lit- 
erature and  science.  My  object  has  been  to  plead  the  cause  not 
merely  of  "  classical,"  but  of  "  liberal  studies/'  —  of  that 
broad  and  generous  culture  of  all  the  faculties,  which  is  no- 
where even  attempted  save  in  our  colleges  and  universities, 
and  of  which  Latin  and  Greek  form  a  large  and  necessary  part, 
but  by  no  means  the  whole.  Dr.  Bigelow's  argument  seemed 
to  me  directed  not  merely  against  classical,  but  against  all 
literature  ;  against,  not  merely  the  moral  and  abstruse  sciences, 
but  all  science  whatever,  which  does  not  directly  promote 
man's  outward  comfort  and  material  well-being ;  against  not 
this  or  that  special  scheme  of  education,  but  any  comprehen- 
sive course  of  general  studies.  But  in  view  of  some  of  the 
ominous  tendencies  of  the  atre,  which  are  nowhere  so  fully  and 

O       J  «. 

darkly  developed  as  in  our  own   land  ;  in  view  of  these  mate- 
rialistic and  fatalistic  doctrines,  which  seem  already  the  most 


30  ABUSE   OF   THE   STUDY   OF  GRAMMAR. 

popular  among  students  in  most  departments  of  natural  his- 
tory and  physical  science  ;  in  view  of  the  accursed  thirst  for 
gold,  and  the  frenzied  passion  for  luxury  and  ostentation, 
which  are  debasing  the  morals  of  industry  and  commerce,  and 
corrupting  the  tone  of  our  politics,  till  many  have  come  almost 
to  despair  of  the  republic  ;  in  view  of  the  ignominy  of  some 
of  our  large  municipal  governments,  and  the  want  of  either 
character  or  ability  in  our  Congress,  —  it  seems  to  me,  that  he 
who  attacks  the  cause  of  liberal  education,  and  thereby  so  far 
tries  to  lessen  the  number,  diminish  the  influence,  and  benumb 
the  powers  of  that  class  of  independent,  educated,  and  thought- 
ful men,  who  alone  are  competent,  humanly  speaking,  to  resist 
these  debasing  tendencies  and  uphold  the  cause  of  integrity, 
learning,  and  truth,  is,  in  fact,  though  unwittingly,  striking  a 
death-blow  against  the  chief  agencies  and  supports  of  Ameri- 
can civilization. 


THE  ABUSE  OF  THE  STUDY  OF  GRAMMAR. 

IF  a  tolerable  proficiency  in  Latin  and  Greek  could  be  ac- 
quired only  by  devoting  eight  or  ten  wearisome  months  exclu- 
sively to  studying  the  grammar  of  each  of  these  languages,  I 
should  not  have  a  word  to  say  in  defence  of  classical  learning. 
Such  an  employment  of  time  appears  to  me  not  only  injudi- 
cious and  unnecessary,  but  almost  sinful.  It  seems  of  late  to 
have  been  forgotten  among  us,  that  grammar,  at  best,  is  only  a 
subsidiary  science,  a  knowledge  of  it  being  valuable  not  for  its 
own  sake,  but  as  a  key  to  the  meaning  and  structure  of  sen- 
tences, and  thereby  a  necessary  introduction  to  literature. 
Formerly,  we  studied  grammar  in  order  to  read  the  classics  ; 
nowadays,  the  classics  seem  to  be  studied  only  as  a  means  of 
learning  grammar.  Surely  a  more  effectual  means  could  not 
have  been  invented  of  rendering  the  pupil  insensible  to  the 
beauties  of  the  ancient  poets,  orators,  and  historians,  of  in- 
spiring disgust  alike  with  Homer  and  Virgil,  Xenophon  and 


ABUSE    OF   THE   STUDY   OF   GRAMMAR.  31 

Tacitus,  than  to  make  their  words  mere  pegs  on  which  to  hang 
long  disquisitions  on  the  latest  refinements  in  philology,  and 
elaborate  attempts  to  systematize  euphonic  changes  and  other 
free  developments  of  stems  and  roots.  The  Germans  have 
corrupted  philology  as  well  as  philosophy  by  their  ponderous 
metaphysics  ;  and  their  latest  theories  and  technicalities  have 
been  imported  into  our  school  grammai's,  an  acquaintance  with 
them  being  made  a  condition  precedent  to  admission  to  college. 
One  is  painfully  reminded  of  what  Jovius  (Giovio)  said  of 
Politian,  some  four  hundred  years  ago,  after  the  appointment 
of  the  latter  to  a  professorship  of  Latin  and  Greek  at  Florence : 
"  Hitherto  I  have  listened  to  grammarians  and  critics  from 
that  chair  ;  but  the  Muses  have  at  last  taken  pity  on  our  gram- 
mar-beladen  ears,  and  sent  us  one  who  can  feel  the  sentiment 
of  Virgil  and  Homer,  as  well  as  explain  their  syntax."  A 
foreigner  would  make  slow  progress  in  learning  to  read  En- 
glish, if  he  should  begin  with  Home  Tooke's  "Diversions  of 
Purley  "  as  a  text-book.  Yet  our  grammars  have  swelled  to 
their  present  inordinate  size  in  order  to  include  much  which 
perfectly  resembles  the  speculations  of  Home  Tooke,  except 
that  they  have  not  the  faintest  claim  to  be  regarded  as  "  Diver- 
sions." Andrews  and  Stoddard's  Latin  Grammar  covers  about 
four  hundred  closely-printed  pages,  in  type  so  fine  as  to  be  in- 
jurious to  the  eyesight ;  Hadley's  or  Crosby's  Greek  Grammar 
contains  nearly  as  much.  Instructors  complain,  and  with  some 
reason,  that  the  candidates  whom  they  offer  for  admission  to 
college  are  liable  to  be  conditioned,  as  the  phrase  is,  or  declared 
to  be  insufficiently  instructed  in  grammar,  to  the  great  injury 
of  their  teacher's  reputation,  if  they  have  not  committed  to 
memory,  and  been  thoroughly  drilled  in  explaining  and  apply- 
ing, every  paragraph  of  this  vast  collection  of  grammatical 
theories  and  niceties. 

Over  forty  years  ago,  a  small  abridgment  of  Mr.  Edward 
Everett's  translation  of  Buttmann's  Greek  Grammar,  compi'is- 
ing,  to  the  best  of  my  recollection,  not  more  than  one  hundred 
and  eighty  openly-printed  pages,  was  accepted  as  a  sufficient 
qualification  for  admission  to  the  freshman  class ;  and  the 
amount  of  Latin  Grammar  required  was  proportionately  small. 
Yet,  at  that  period,  the  quantity  of  Latin  and  Greek  studied 


32  ABUSE  OF  THE  STUDY  OF  GRAMMAR. 

by  undergraduates  was  at  least  one  third  more  than  what  is 
now  required  of  them.  That  this  amount  was  not,  in  one 
sense,  so  well  studied  then  as  now,  —  that  is,  that  the  student 
did  not  acquire  so  much  minute  philological  information,  — 
may  be  readily  admitted.  Bat  in  the  ability,  at  the  time  of 
graduation,  to  read  and  enjoy  the  Latin  and  Greek  authors,  he 
was  considerably  in  advance,  as  I  believe,  of  our  recent  gradu- 
ates. He  had  command  of  a  larger  vocabulary,  had  profited 
by  more  experience  in  disentangling  difficult  constructions,  had 
stored  his  memory  with  a  larger  number  of  pithy  phrases, 
gnomic  sentences,  and  scraps  of  vei'se,  and  had  been  less  in- 
jured by  the  indiscriminate  use  of  translations.  Classical 
learning  seems  to  me  to  have  steadily  declined  in  this  country 
of  late  years,  in  respect  both  to  the  number  of  its  votaries  and 
to  its  estimation  with  the  public  at  large,  just  in  proportion  as 
its  professors  and  teachers  have  diminished  the  time  and  effort 
bestowed  on  reading  the  classics,  in  order  to  enforce  more  mi- 
nute attention  to  the  mysteries  of  Greek  accentuation  and  the 
metaphysics  of  the  subjunctive  mood.  He  will  do  most  to  re- 
vive it  who  shall  be  the  first  to  publish,  in  a  volume  of  not 
more  than  three  hundred  openly-printed  pages,  all  the  gram- 
matical forms  and  principles,  both  of  the  Latin  and  Greek  lan- 
guages, which  are  required  to  qualify  a  candidate  for  admission 
to  college,  and  which  will  suffice  even  for  the  undergraduate 
studies  of  nine  tenths  of  the  students.  Those  who  are  ambi- 
tious to  become  Scaligers,  Bentleys,  or  Porsons,  may  study  the 
whole  of  Andrews  and  Stoddard,  or  of  Zumpt,  Kriiger,  and 
Buttmann. 


A  MINORITY  REPORT  ON  THE  SILVER  QUESTION. 

PRESENTED    TO    THE    SENATE    OF   THE    UNITED    STATES    IN    APRIL,    1877.1 

UNABLE  to  accept  the  conclusions  at  which  a  majority  of  the 
Commission  have  arrived,  the  undersigned  respectfully  sutflnits 
what  follows  as  a  Minority  Report :  — 

From  the  tables  showing  the  monthly  fluctuations  in  the 
London  market  price  of  English  standard  silver  (925  thou- 
sandths fine)  per  ounce,  it  appears  that,  during  a  period  of  forty- 
one  years,  from  January,  1833,  to  January,  1874,  this  price 
oscillated  around  QQd.  per  ounce,  never  falling  below  58^cZ., 
and  never  rising  to  63<i.  Assuming  the  average  price  to  have 

1  The  Congress  of  the  United  States  passed  the  following  concurrent  resolu- 
tion on  the  loth  of  August,  1876  :  — 

"  Resolved,  by  the  Senate  and  House  of  Representatives,  That  a  Commission  is 
hereby  authorized  and  constituted,  to  consist  of  three  Senators,  to  be  appointed 
by  the  Senate  ;  three  members  of  the  House  of  Representatives,  to  be  appointed 
by  the  Speaker ;  and  experts,  not  exceeding  three  in  number,  to  be  selected  by 
and  associated  with  them  ;  with  authority  to  determine  the  time  and  place  of 
meeting,  and  to  take  evidence  ;  and  whose  duty  it  shall  be  to  inquire  — 

"  Firs/,  Into  the  change  which  has  taken  place  in  the  relative  value  of  gold  and 
silver  ;  the  causes  thereof,  whether  permanent  or  otherwise  ;  the  effects  thereof 
upon  trade,  commerce,  finance,  and  the  productive  interests  of  the  country,  and 
upon  the  standard  of  value  in  this,  and  foreign  countries. 

"Second/;/,  Into  the  policy  of  the  restoration  of  the  double  standard  in  this 
country ;  and,  if  restored,  what  the  legal  relation  between  the  two  metals,  silver 
and  gold,  should  be. 

"  Thircl/i/,  Into  the  policy  of  continuing  legal  tender  notes  concurrently  with 
the  metallic  standards,  and  the  effects  thereof  upon  the  labor,  industries,  and 
wealth  of  the  country;  and 

"  Fourthly,  Into  the  best  means  for  facilitating  the  resumption  of  specie  pay- 
ments." 

The  Commission  were  required  to  make  report  to  Congress  at  an  early  day, 
"with  the  evidence  taken  by  them,  and  such  recommendations  for  legislation  as 
they  may  deem  proper." 

The  members  of  the  Commission  appointed  on  the  part  of  the  Senate  were,  Mr. 
Jones,  of  Nevada  ;  Mr.  Houtwell.of  Massachusetts  ;  and  Mr.  Bogy,  of  Missouri. 

Those  on  the  part  of  the  House  of  Representatives  were,  Mr.  Gibson,  of  Louisi- 
3 


34  A   MINORITY    REPORT    ON   THE   SILVER   QUESTION. 

been  60J.,  we  find  the  ratio  of  value  between  silver  and  gold 
to  bave  been  as  1  to  15. 7.1  In  1874,  the  price  of  silver  began 
to  fall,  though  the  decline  did  not  become  considerable  till 
May,  1875,  from  which  time,  though  with  some  fluctuations, 
the  depreciation  rapidly  increased,  till  in  July,  1876,  the  price 
touched  47t?.,  being  a  fall  of  twenty-one  per  cent.,  the  ratio 
being  then  as  1  to  20.  After  July,  the  price  advanced  again, 
till  in  December,  1876,  it  was  about  as  high  as  at  the  beginning 
of  the  year.2 

Are  these  great  and  sudden  changes  in  the  relative  value  of 
the  two  precious  metals'  attributable  to  a  fluctuation  in  the 
value  of  silver,  or  in  that  of  gold,  or  partly  in  both  ?  This  is 
the  first  question  which  it  is  the  duty  of  the  present  Commission 
to  consider. 

In  the  opinion  of  the  undersigned,  formed  after  a  careful  ex- 
amination of  the  evidence  presented  to  this  Commission,  and 
to  the  select  committee  of  the  English  House  of  Commons  on 
the  same  subject,  which  made  its  report  through  Mr.  Goschen 
last  July,  these  changes  must  be  attributed  exclusively  to  a 

ana;  Mr.  Bland,  of  Missouri ;  and  Mr.  Willard,  of  Michigan.  Those  who  were 
appointed  to  serve  upon  the  Commission  as  "experts"  were  Mr.  W.  S.  Groes- 
beck,  of  Ohio,  and  F.  Bowen,  of  Massachusetts. 

Frequent  meetings  of  this  Commission  were  held  in  the  city  of  New  York 
throughout  October  and  November,  1876,  at  which  many  witnesses  were  examined 
and  a  great  body  of  evidence  was  collected.  It  soon  became  evident  that  a  large 
majority  of  the  members  were  in  favor  of  attempting  to  restore  what  is  called  the 
double  standard  of  value,  and  of  making  the  obsolete  silver  dollar  again  a  legal 
tender  for  the  payment  of  debts,  though  it  had  been  expressly  demonetized  by  the 
Revised  Statutes  of  1874.  The  inevitable  result  of  these  measures,  as  it  seemed 
to  me,  would  be  a  breach  of  the  public  faith  and  a  depreciation  of  the  currency 
equal  to  the  decline  in  the  market  value  of  silver  bullion.  Hence  my  labor  was 
confined  chiefly  to  the  preparation  of  this  "  Minority  Report."  I  expected  to  be 
in  a  minority  of  one,  and  was  therefore  agreeably  surprised  to  learn  that,  before 
it  had  been  presented  to  Congress,  it  was  adopted  and  signed  by  another  member 
of  the  Commission,  Mr.  R.  L.  Gibson,  now  Senator  of  the  United  States  from 
Louisiana. 

1  An  ounce  of    English  standard   silver  contains.  444  grains  of  the  pure  metal ; 
and  a  sovereign  contains  almost  exactly  113  grains  of  pure  gold.     Then  GO/.,  or 
one  fourth  of  a  sovereign,  contains  28.25  grains  of  pure  gold,  and  the  ratio  of  value 
between  the  two  metals  is  as  28.25  to  444,  or  as  1  to  15.716-)-. 

2  After  January,  1877.  the  price  rapidly  receded  again  to  50</.,  and  of  late  it 
has  oscillated  around  52<7.     Instead  of  being  a  standard  for  the  measure  of  values, 
I  doubt  whether  any  of  the  principal  articles  of  international  trade,  during  the  last 
five  years,  has  fluctuated  in  price  so  much  or  so  suddenly  as  silver. 


A  MINORITY   REPORT   ON   THE   SILVER   QUESTION.  35 

depreciation  of  silver,  the  fluctuations  being  such  only  as  often 
accompany,  at  the  outset,  any  considerable  rise  or  fall  in  the 
market  price  of  a  single  commodity,  before  the  reality  and  the 
precise  amount  of  the  alteration  are  definitely  established. 

Speaking  generally,  the  value  of  anything  is  its  purchasing 
power,  or,  in  other  words,  its  ratio  of  exchangeableness  with 
other  commodities.  Whenever  gold  is  the  only  standard,  the 
average  prices  of  commodities  in  general,  after  allowing  for 
special  causes  of  fluctuation  in  particular  cases,  indicate  with 
sufficient  precision  the  average  value  of  gold.  In  fact,  they  do 
not  merely  indicate  ;  they  are  that  value.  If  there  has  been 
no  recent  panic  in  the  market,  no  special  cause  of  general  de- 
pression of  trade,  a  general  fall  of  prices  expresses  a  rise  in  the 
value  of  gold  ;  and,  conversely,  if  a  fever  of  speculation  has 
not  for  a  time  unduly  stimulated  the  market,  a  general  advance 
of  prices  is  a  fall  in  the  value  of  gold.  Now,  during  the  four- 
teen months  ending  July,  1876,  there  was  no  general  fall  of 
prices  in  the  London  market,  corresponding  to  the  great  depre- 
ciation which  then  took  place  in  the  price  of  silver.  In  July, 
1876,  an  ounce  of  standard  silver  would  not  purchase,  either 
in  London  or  New  York,  by  about  seventeen  percent.,  so  large 
a  share  of  commodities  generally  as  could  have  been  obtained  for 
it  fourteen  months  before.  .But  gold  had  not  risen.  An  ounce 
of  standard  gold  could  have  been  exchanged  for  very  little,  if 
any,  more  of  other  commodities  generally,  excepting  silver, 
than  in  May,  1875.  Even  if  general  prices  were  somewhat 
depressed  during  these  fourteen  months,  they  certainly  did  not 
then  immediately  undergo  a  far  more  rapid  change  in  the  op- 
posite direction,  reaching  their  former  level  in  December,  1876. 
In  all  its  essential  features,  the  fluctuation  in  the  price  of  silver 
was  an  isolated  phenomenon,  having  nothing  corresponding  to 
it  in  the  general  course  of  trade. 

If  we  look  at  the  circumstances  affecting  the  relative  demand 
and  supply  in  the  case  of  the  two  precious  metals,  we  shall  arrive 
at  the  same  conclusion.  During  the  last  quarter  of  a  century, 
the  annual  product  of  gold  from  the  placers  and  mines  has  been 
so  much  in  excess  of  the  demand  as  to  render  it  exceedingly 
probable  that  the  value  of  that  metal  has  been  steadily,  though 
slowly,  falling,  and  that  this  decline  is  not  even  yet  arrested. 


36  A   MINORITY   REPORT   ON   THE   SILVER  QUESTION. 

It  is  matter  of  the  commonest  observation,  that  the  necessary 
expenses  of  living  and  maintaining  a  family  have  been  con- 
stantly on  the  increase  since  1851 ;  the  prices  of  commodities 
generally,  reckoned  in  gold,  have  risen  very  considerably,  both 
in  Europe  and  America.  No  one  expects  that  they  will  recede 
again  to  what  was  their  level  before  the  discoveries  of  gold  in 
California  and  Australia.  The  total  annual  product  of  gold  in 
the  world  had  risen  from  about  twenty-seven  millions  of  dollars 
in  1849,  to  an  average  of  more  than  one  hundred  and  five  mil- 
lions for  the  five  years  beginning  with  1850,  and  to  one  hundred 
and  thirty-six  millions  as  the  average  for  the  next  five  years  end- 
ing with  1859. l  What  was  the  consequence  of  this  enormous 
increase  of  the  supply  ? 

From  the  price-lists  of  the  "  Economist"  newspaper,  and  from 
other  sources,  Professor  Jevons,  in  his  work  on  the  Fall  of  Gold, 
published  in  1863,  compiled  tables  of  the  monthly  prices  of 
thirty-nine  of  those  chief  articles  of  commerce  which  may  prop- 
erly be  regarded  as  necessaries  of  civilized  life,  and  thus  ascer- 
tained the  average  annual  price  of  each  of  them  for  the  whole 
period  from  1845  to  1862,  both  inclusive.  He  thus  proved  that 
their  prices  had,  "  on  an  average,  risen  between  1845-1850  and 
1860-1862  in  the  ratio  of  100  to  116.2,  which  is  equivalent  to 
a  depreciation  of  gold  in  the  ratio  100  to  86,  or  by  fourteen  per 
cent."  He  then  took  seventy-nine  minor  commodities,  less  gen- 
erally in  use,  the  prices  of  which  advance  more  slowly,  since,  as 
they  are  chiefly  articles  of  luxury,  an  enhanced  price  diminishes 
their  consumption  :  and  taking  the  average  of  the  whole  one  hun- 
dred and  eighteen  articles,  the  rise  of  prices,  comparing  the  same 
two  periods,  was  "  found  to  be  in  the  ratio  100  to  110.25,  cor- 
responding to  a  depreciation  of  gold  in  the  ratio  of  100  to  90.70, 
or  by  about  nine  and  one  third  per  cent."  He  adds  as  the 
final  result,  "  the  lowest  estimate  of  the  fall  that  I  arrive  at  is 
nine  per  cent.,  and  I  shall  be  satisfied  if  my  readers  accept  this. 
At  the  same  time,  in  my  own  opinion,  the  fall  is  nearer  fifteen 
per  cent." 

Is  there  any  good  reason  to  believe  that  this  fall  in  the  value 
of  gold  has  stopped,  or  has  been  materially  retarded,  since 
1862  ?  I  think  not. 

1  Authorities  cited  in  Goscheu's  parliameDtary  report  on  the  Depreciation  of 
Silver. 


A   MINORITY   REPORT   ON    THE   SILVER   QUESTION.  37 

Taking  the  three  periods  of  five  years  each  which,  elapsed 
between  1859-1874,  we  find  the  average  annual  product  of  gold 
throughout  the  world  in  each  of  them  to  be  respectively,  using 
the  nearest  round  numbers,  one  hundred  and  two  millions,  one 
hundred  and  three  millions,  and  one  hundred  millions  of  dollars. 
In  1875,  the  same  authority  puts  the  product  for  the  year  at 
one  hundred  and  one  millions  of  dollars.  There  is  nothing  in 
these  figures  which  would  lead  us  to  suppose  that  the  fall  was 
much  impeded  ;  certainly  it  could  not  have  changed  to  a  rise. 
Again,  while  over  three  hundred  and  ten  millions  of  pounds 
sterling  were  added  to  the  stock  of  gold  in  the  world  during 
the  fourteen  years  1849-1862,  during  the  thirteen  subsequent 
years,  up  to  the  end  of  1875,  there  was  a  further  addition  to 
this  stock  amounting  to  two  hundred  and  sixty-three  millions 
of  pounds  sterling.  We  are  justified,  then,  in  concluding  that 
a  rise  in  the  value  of  gold  during  the  latter  period  was  impos- 
sible.1 

While  the  fall  of  gold  has  been  so  slow  and  gradual  as  to  be 
with  difficulty  detected,  except  when  we  regard  its  aggregate 
result  after  the  lapse  of  a  number  of  years,  the  depreciation  of 
silver  has  been  sudden  and  very  great.  It  took  place,  as  we 

1  According  to  the  statistics  collected  by  Mr.  Robert  Giffen,  and  published  by 
the  Statistical  Society  of  London,  in  March,  1879,  it  appears  that  during  the  period 
between  1850  and  18~.'5,  the  average  prices  in  England  of  twenty-two  staple-  com- 
modities were  generally  enhanced,  though  with  several  fluctuations,  in  the  ratio  of 
2200  to  2947,  thus  indicating  a  fall  of  nearly  one  third  in  the  value  of  gold.  But 
after  the  panic  of  1873.  the  prices  of  the  same  commodities  rapidly  receded  again, 
and  on  January  1.  1879.  they  were  only  a  trifle  above  their  average  during  the  pe- 
riod 1845-1850.  Does  this  fact  prove  that  the  value  of  gold  has  not  fallen,  but  only 
fluctuated,  during  the  last  tliirtv  years  ?  By  no  means.  The  circumstances  were 
exceptional  during  this  last  period  of  six  years  preceding  January,  1879.  The 
panic  of  1873  was  a  disastrous  one  in  its  ultimate  effects,  not  only  for  America, 
but  fur  the  whole  commercial  world.  Goods  in  the  hands  of  bankrupt  merchants 
had  to  he  disposed  of  at  any  sacrifice.  Rents  and  wages  fell,  and  consumption 
was  diminished,  under  the  pressure  of  forced  economy.  Then,  too,  during  these 
same  years,  a  series  of  notable  improvements  and  inventions,  under  the  stimulus 
of  necessity,  cheapened  the  processes  of  manufacture  and  diminished  the  cost  of 
transportation  both  liv  land  and  sea.  And  during  the  year  preceding  July,  1880, 
as  we  all  know,  there  has  been  a  marked  recovery  in  the  prices  of  staple  com- 
modities, which  now  seem  likelv  to  approximate  very  nearly  what  was  their  aver- 
age before  the  occurrence  of  the  great  panic.  On  the  whole,  I  cannot  doulit  that 
the  value  of  gold  during  the  last  thirty  years  has  fallen  at  least  twenty-five  pel- 
cent. 


38  A  MINORITY  REPORT   ON   THE   SILVER   QUESTION. 

have  seen,  in  less  than  two  years,  and  it  amounted  to  twenty 
per  cent.  Its  causes  are  easily  discovered.  Chiefly  through 
the  discovery  and  the  rapid  development  of  the  silver  mines  in 
the  United  States,  there  was  a  sudden  and  immense  increase  of 
the  supply ;  and  that  was  soon  followed  by  an  independent  but 
considerable  diminution  of  the  demand.  These  two  causes 
united  created  something  like  a  panic,  and  several  of  the  gov- 
ernments of  Europe  made  haste  to  get  rid,  so  far  as  was  possi- 
ble, of  a  commodity  which,  as  it  seemed,  must  rapidly  decline 
in  value,  and  to  preserve  their  standard  of  value  by  demone- 
tizing silver.  Their  action,  of  course,  only  enhanced  for  others 
the  evil  against  which  it  was  intended  to  guard  themselves. 
The  stock  of  silver  no  longer  needed  for  use  as  money  in  Ger- 
many, or  for  additional  coinage  by  the  states  constituting  the 
Latin  Monetary  Union,  was  thrown  upon  the  market,  where 
it  operated  to  increase  and  accelerate  the  decline  which  had 
previously  become  inevitable. 

The  Comstock  lode  has  been  for  our  own  times  what  Potosi 
was  for  the  sixteenth  century,  though  its  effects  have  been  de- 
veloped much  more  rapidly. 

The  great  increase  in  the  supply  of  the  precious  metals  from 
America,  which  took  place  during  the  latter  half  of  the  six- 
teenth century,  was  mainly  owing  to  the  discovery  of  the  mines 
of  Potosi,  which  were  first  systematically  worked  in  1545.  Be- 
fore that  year,  as  we  learn  from  Humboldt,  the  annual  product 
of  both  the  precious  metals  from  America  was  only  about  three 
millions  of  dollars.  Before  1600,  Potosi  had  nearly  quadrupled 
this  amount,  having  raised  it  to  eleven  millions  ;  and  the  con- 
sequence was,  within  a  quarter  of  a  century,  that  silver  fell  to 
about  one  third  of  its  former  value.  Before  1570,  a  quarter 
(eight  bushels)  of  wheat  of  middle  quality  was  sold  in  Eng- 
land, on  an  average  of  a  long  period  of  years,  for  about  two 
ounces  of  pure  silver  ;  about  1600,  (still  taking  an  average  of 
many  years,  so  that  the  exceptionally  good  and  exceptionally 
bad  crops  may  offset  each  other,)  the  price  had  advanced  to  a 
little  over  six  ounces,  a  point  from  which  it  has  not  receded 
from  that  day  to  this. 

Now  pass  over  about  three  centuries,  and  we  come  to  the 
effect  produced  by  the  Comstock  lode  in  our  own  day.  The 


A   MINORITY   REPORT   ON   THE   SILVER  QUESTION.  39 

product  of  the  Nevada  mines  first  became  considerable  in  1861, 
when  the  amount  of  silver  raised,  according  to  Dr.  Linderinan, 
the  Director  of  the  Mint,  was  about  two  millions  of  dollars. 
It  rose  rapidly  till  1864,  in  which  year  the  total  product  of 
silver  in  the  United  States,  according  to  the  same  authority, 
was  about  eleven  millions.  In  1870,  the  annual  product  be- 
came sixteen  millions,  and  then  rapidly  bounded  upward,  till, 
in  1875,  it  had  become  thirty-two  millions.  During  the  last 
year,  1876,  it  was  probably  near  forty  millions.  Combining 
this  product  from  the  United  States  with  that  obtained  from 
other  sources  throughout  the  world,  we  find  that,  up  to  1861, 
the  total  annual  yield  of  silver  had  been  very  steady,  for  about 
ten  years,  at  a  little  over  forty  millions  of  dollars,  and  that  it 
rapidly  increased  from  that  date  till  1875,  in  which  year  it 
became  double  its  former  amount,  or  almost  exactly  eighty 
millions. 

In  itself  alone,  this  increase,  though  vast,  might  not  seri- 
ously have  affected  the  market  for  some  years  to  come,  since 
changes  affecting  the  value  of  either  of  the  precious  metals 
are  usually  produced  with  great  slowness,  much  time  being 
required  for  equalizing  prices  throughout  the  world.  During 
this  intervening  time,  large  quantities  of  the  metal  are,  as  it 
were,  in  transitu,  or  wandering  about  the  world  in  search  of 
the  best  market.  But  at  about  the  same  time  with  this  rapid 
increase  of  supply,  the  demand  for  silver  to  be  exported  to 
British  India  suddenly  fell  off.  During  the  four  years  1862— 
1866,  cotton  was  largely  exported  from  India,  and  it  was  paid 
for  by  heavy  remittances  in  silver,  which  is  the  money  of  that 
country.  Within  those  four  yeai's,  India  absorbed  silver  to 
the  enormous  amount  of  two  hundred  and  seventy  millions  of 
dollars,  this  being  the  excess  of  the  imports  over  the  exports 
of  that  metal.  Of  course,  when  American  cotton  came  again 
into  the  market  after  the  close  of  the  war,  the  price  of  India 
cotton  rapidly  fell  off ;  it  was  no  longer  exported  in  large 
quantities,  and  the  drain  of  silver  for  its  purchase  ceased. 
But  another  cause  then  came  into  operation,  which  prevented 
this  drain  from  being  at  once  and  entirely  checked.  English 
capital  was  needed  in  large  amounts  to  aid  the  construction  of 
Indian  railways,  canals,  and  other  costly  public  works  ;  and 


40  A   MINORITY    REPORT    ON    THE   SILVER   QUESTION. 

the  remittances  on  this  account  kept  up  the  excess  of  the  im- 
ports of  silver  over  the  exports,  for  another  period  of  four 
years,  to  the  average  amount  of  thirty-five  millions  of  dollars 
annually.  At  the  end  of  this  second  period,  the  construction 
of  these  works  practically  came  to  an  end,  and  the  drain  of 
silver,  so  far  as  this  cause  was  concerned,  not  only  ceased, 
but  was  turned  the  other  way.  India  was  then,  and  still  is, 
heavily  in  debt  to  England  for  these  supplies  of  capital ;  and 
the  remittances  home  for  interest  and  dividends  became  so 
large  that  India  had  but  little  to  receive  in  merchandise  or 
silver.  The  effect  was,  in  1870-1871,  that  the  demand  for  silver 
to  be  sent  to  India  suddenly  fell  off  to  less  than  five  millions 
of  dollars  ;  and  though  it  partially  recovered  the  next  year, 
the  average  for  the  last  four  years,  ending  in  1875,  has  been 
only  about  ten  millions  annually,  against  an  average  of  sixty- 
seven  millions  a  year  during  the  four  years  of  the  American 
war,  and  of  thirty-five  millions  a  year  for  the  four  years  follow- 
ing the  close  of  that  war.  As  it  is  improbable  that  the  debt  of 
India  to  England  will  be  sensibly  diminished  for  many  years 
to  come,  it  cannot  be  expected  that  the  drain  of  silver  to  the 
East  will  be  resumed  to  anything  like  its  former  extent  within 
the  lifetime  of  the  present  generation. 

The  general  result  is,  that,  within  the  last  fifteen  years,  the 
Comstock  lode  has  added  to  the  world's  annual  supply  of  silver 
about  forty  millions  of  dollars  ;  and  the  demand  for  that  metal, 
to  be  exported  to  India,  has  fallen  off,  on  an  average,  almost 
precisely  to  the  same  extent.  No  wonder,  then,  that  the  depre- 
ciation of  silver  should  have  been  as  sudden  and  great  as  that 
which  we  have  witnessed,  or  that  the  principal  states  of  Europe 
should  have  made  haste  to  get  rid,  as  far  as  possible,  of  their 
large  stocks  of  this  metal,  and  to  substitute  gold  for  silver  as 
their  standard  of  value.  In  the  opinion  of  the  undersigned,  it 
will  be  wise  for  the  United  States,  as  far  as  may  be,  to  follow 
their  example. 

England  has  had  no  occasion  to  change  her  action  or  her 
policy.  Sixty  years  ago  she  adopted  gold  as  her  only  stand- 
ard of  value,  and  demonetized  silver,  which  has  ever  since  been 
used  in  that  country  solely  for  purposes  of  small  change,  and  is 
legal  tender  to  the  amount  only  of  forty  shillings.  The  quan- 


A   MINORITY    REPORT    ON   THE   SILVER    QUESTION.  41 

tity  of  silver  in  circulation  being  strictly  limited,  and  being 
intentionally  overvalued  from  the  outset  about  six  per  cent., 
any  depreciation  of  its  value  in  the  market  does  not  at  all  im- 
pair its  usefulness  as  subsidiary  currency.  Foreign  silver  coins 
cannot  enter  into  circulation ;  but,  if  introduced  into  the  coun- 
try, can  only  be  sold  by  weight  at  their  bullion  value.  The 
consequence  is,  that  English  gold  coins  are  now  more  generally 
received  at  their  full  value  in  all  the  markets  of  the  world  than 
any  form  of  money,  and  are  a  generally  recognized  medium  for 
the  settlement  of  international  balances. 

In  order  to  secure  the  advantages  of  this  English  system,  and 
to  avoid  the  heavy  loss  which  seemed  impending  over  her  cur- 
rency through  the  depreciation  of  silver,  Germany  took  the 
first  step  toward  the  abandonment  of  her  silver  standard  by 
a  law  passed  in  December,  1871. 

The  mark  was  then  established  as  the  unit  of  value,  and  the 
gold  coins  to  be  issued  of  the  denominations  of  twenty  and  ten 
marks  were  made  legal  tender.  The  value  of  the  twenty-mark 
piece  being  made  only  fivepence  less'  than  that  of  the  English 
sovereign,  and  threepence  less  than  that  of  twenty-five  francs, 
the  new  coins  became  easily  interchangeable  with  the  gold  cur- 
rency both  of  Fiance  and  England.  Power  was  also  given  for 
withdrawing  silver  coins,  and  the  coinage  of  large  silver  pieces 
was  stopped.  The  next  step  was  taken  in  July,  Ib73,  by  a 
law  which  caused  this  imperial  gold  currency  to  take  the  place 
of  the  various  currencies  previously  in  use  in  the  separate 
states  of  Germany,  and  established  a  subsidiary  silver  coinage, 
issued  at  a  little  more  than  eleven  per  cent,  below  its  nominal 
value,  and  made  legal  tender  to  an  amount  not  exceeding 

o  o 

twenty  marks ;  but  to  avoid  any  inconvenience  which  might 
arise  from  too  large  an  issue  of  the  subsidiary  silver  coins,  they 
were  made  receivable  by  the  imperial  and  state  treasuries  up 
to  any  amount.  The  old  silver  coins  were  hut  slowly  with- 
drawn, the  one-thaler  piece  being  continued  in  use  up  to  the 
present  year.  All  bank-notes  were  withdrawn  which  were  not 
made  payable  in  imperial  currency,  and  none  can  remain  in  cir- 
culation, or  be  issued  in  future,  of  a  lower  denomination  than 
one  hundred  marks,  or  about  five  pounds  sterling.  This  was 
an  important  feature  of  the  law,  as  bank-notes  had  previously 


42  A   MINORITY   REPORT    ON   THE   SILVER   QUESTION. 

been  issued  of  as  low  a  denomination  as  one  thaler  ;  and  the 
withdrawal  of  all  of  them  below  five  pounds  must  greatly  in- 
crease the  use  of  coin  in  small  transactions.  Under  these  laws, 
up  to  June  last,  new  gold  coins  had  been  struck  to  the  amount 
of  seventy  millions  of  pounds  sterling.  Of  the  old  silver  with- 
drawn, and  not  replaced  by  the  new  silver  coinage,  up  to  the 
20th  of  April  last,  sales  had  been  made  to  the  extent  only  of 
about  six  millions  sterling,  which  is  too  small  an  amount  to  have 
had  much  direct  influence  on  the  depreciation  of  silver  before 
that  date.  It  is  probable,  however,  that  a  much  larger  quan- 
tity remains  to  be  melted  down  and  sold,  though  even  an  ap- 
proximate calculation  of  its  amount  is  stated  by  the  German 
authorities  themselves  to  be  impossible. 

Most  of  the  other  countries  of  Europe,  excepting  those 
which  have  in  use  a  depreciated  paper  currency,  have  imi- 
tated the  example  thus  set,  through  preventing  the  further 
coinage  of  silver  except  for  purposes  of  small  change,  and  thus 
limiting  the  amount  of  it  in  circulation.  None  have  gone  so 
far,  however,  in  this  respect  as  Germany ;  but  they  have  only 
done  enough  to  prevent  the  influx  of  the  now  cheapened  silver 
from  driving  gold  out  of  circulation,  and  thereby  depreciating 
their  standard  of  value.  Denmark,  Norway,  and  Sweden  vir- 
tually adopted  the  gold  standard  in  1872-1873,  and  have  since 
largely  imported  gold,  and  have  sold  silver  amounting  to  over 
ten  millions  of  dollars.  Holland  for  some  time  pursued  a  vacil- 
lating policy,  though  attempts  to  alter  her  laws  respecting 
coinage  were  made  as  early  as  October,  1872.  But  at  last,  in 
June,  1875,  her  parliament  passed  an  act  prohibiting  the  coin- 
age of  silver  indefinitely,  and  allowing  the  coinage  of  gold. 
Under  this  law,  a  gold  ten-florin  piece  has  been  struck ;  and 
during  the  next  nine  months,  fifty-six  millions  of  florins  in 
gold  were  issued,  and  have  taken  the  place  of  an  equivalent 
amount  of  silver,  which  has  been  discharged  from  circulation. 
France  and  the  other  states  (Belgium,  Switzerland,  Italy,  and 
Greece)  constituting  the  Latin  Monetary  Union,  have  adopted 
an  expectant  policy,  merely  restricting  within  narrow  limits 
the  further  coinage  of  silver ;  though  the  French  minister  of 
finance  recently  proposed  a  law  authorizing  the  government  to 
prohibit  entirely  the  use  of  any  more  silver  five-franc  pieces. 


A   MINORITY    REPORT   ON   THE   SILVER   QUESTION.  43 

France,  which  had  previously  been  almost  drained  of  silver,  first 
through  purchasing  cotton  from  India  during  the  American 
war,  and  next  by  the  payment  of  the  German  indemnity,  has 
replenished  her  stock  of  that  metal  through  the  natural  laws 
of  trade,  without  any  special  legislation,  but  merely  by  con- 
tracting her  paper  currency,  which  for  a  time  took  the  place  of 
the  exported  silver  money.  She  is  probably  deterred  from 
adopting  exclusively  a  gold  standard,  through  her  apprehension 
of  the  effect  which  would  be  produced  in  lowering  the  price  of 
silver  by  throwing  her  large  stock  of  it  upon  the  market,  in 
which  case,  the  cost  of  filling  up  the  circulation  with  gold 
would  be  very  considerable. 

As  already  remarked,  this  action  of  the  European  govern- 
ments in  partially  discarding  silver  from  circulation  as  money 
has  tended  in  two  ways  to  increase  the  depreciation  in  value 
of  that  metal ;  first,  by  throwing  large  quantities  of  it  upon 
the  already  burdened  bullion  market,  and  secondly,  by  narrow- 
ing the  field  for  its  employment,  and  thereby  lessening  the 
demand.  But  to  suppose  that  its  depression  in  price  originated 
in  their  action  on  the  currency,  and  is  entirely  attributable  to 
the  measures  which  they  adopted,  would  be  to  invert  the  rela- 
tion of  cause  and  effect.  Rather  its  previous  fall  in  value,  and 
apprehended  further  decline,  caused  them  suddenly  to  demone- 
tize it,  as  otherwise  their  general  and  nearly  simultaneous  ac- 
tion in  regard  to  it  would  have  been  arbitrary  and  motiveless. 
There  is  no  conceivable  reason  why  they  should  all,  within  a 
brief  period,  have  made  haste  to  get  rid  of  silver,  if  it  had  not 
appeared  to  them  to  be  already  rapidly  sinking  in  value  while 
on  their  hands. 

We  have  next  to  consider  whether  the  causes  which  have 
produced  the  recent  changes  in  the  relative  value  of  gold  and 
silver  are  "  permanent  or  otherwise."  The  question  herein 
indicated  does  not  admit  at  present  of  a  determinate  answer. 
We  may  form  a  somewhat  loose  estimate  of  the  probabilities 
affecting  the  immediate  future,  perhaps  for  the  next  six  or 
eight  years  ;  but  if  we  attempt  to  look  farther,  or  to  arrive  at 
more  definite  results,  events  as  unexpected  and  as  vast  in  their 
influence  as  the  gold  discoveries  in  California  and  Australia,  or 
as  the  finding  of  silver  ore  in  the  Comstock  Lode,  may  falsify 


44  A    MINORITY   EEPORT   ON   THE   SILVER   QUESTION. 

all  our  calculations.  Of  all  human  industries,  mining  the  pre- 
cious metals  is  the  most  precarious  and  uncertain.  Legislation 
which  is  to  affect  interests  and  industries  so  large  and  compli- 
cated as  those  which  depend  upon  the  state  of  the  currency  in 
the  United  States,  and  upon  the  preservation  of  the  standard 
of  value,  cannot  be  safely  based  upon  vague  estimates,  or  upon 
the  interested  statements  and  valuations  made  by  large  holders 
of  stock  in  silver  mines  ;  but  explorations  recently  made  upon 
the  spot  by  the  Director  of  the  United  States  Mint,  by  Prof. 
R.  E.  Rogers,  and  other  eminent  geologists  and  mineralogists, 
and  by  mining  engineers,  leave  little  doubt  that  the  quantity  of 
silver  ore  already  partially  exposed  to  view  and  measurement 
in  the  Comstock  lode  is  enough  to  keep  up  the  average  product 
of  that  metal  at  least  to  its  present  amount  for  some  years  to 
come.1  It  is  not  probable,  then,  that  the  supply  will  soon  fall 
off,  and  there  are  no  indications  that  the  demand  for  the  em- 
ployment of  silver,  either  in  the  arts,  for  monetary  purposes, 
or  for  exportation  to  the  East,  will  again  become  as  extensive 
within  the  next  five  years  as  it' was  five  years  ago.  On  the 
conti-ary,  the  evidence  goes  to  show  that  electro-plated  forks, 
spoons,  and  ornaments  are  already,  to  some  extent,  taking  the 
place  of  the  corresponding  articles,  far  more  costly,  which  con- 
tain a  larger  proportion  of  pure  silver.  No  one  expects  that 
England,  Germany,  Denmark,  Sweden,  and  Norway  will  soon 
reverse  what  is  now  their  established  policy,  by  again  bringing 
silver  into  circulation  as  money,  except  for  the  very  limited  pur- 
poses of  a  subsidiary  currency  ;  and  if  not,  then  all  these  coun- 
tries, excepting  England,  must  continue  for  some  time  to  be 
sellers  rather  than  buyers  of  this  rnetal.  Moreover,  the  facts 
already  mentioned  make  it  highly  probable  that  France,  Hol- 
land, and  Belgium  may  soon  adopt  entirely  the  monetary  policy 

1  This  expectation  is  not  likely  to  he  fulfilled.  During  the  present  year 
(1880),  the  indications  are,  although  there  is  still  silver  ore  enough  in  the  Coin- 
stock  lode,  that  the  difficulty  and  cost  of  mining  and  extracting  it  at  great  depths 
are  so  much  enhanced  that  it  cannot  much  longer  be  raised  at  profit.  The  sup- 
ply of  silver  from  this  source,  therefore,  must  he  greatly  diminished,  even  if  the 
mines  are  not  abandoned  altogether.  On  the  other  hand,  the  recent  discoveries 
at  Leadville  and  other  districts  in  Colorado  bid  fair  to  compensate  the  decreased 
production  in  Xevada.  For  the  fiscal  year  1879,  the  Director  of  the  Mint  esti- 
mates the  product  of  silver  from  all  the  mines  in  the  United  States  at  about  forty 
millions,  of  which  Colorado  alone  furnishes  nearly  twelve  millions. 


A   MINORITY    REPORT    ON   THE   SILVER   QUESTION.  45 

of  Germany,  as  they  have  already  adopted  it  to  some  extent ; 
and  neither  British  India  nor  China  seems  likely  soon  to  have 
again  so  large  an  excess  of  exports  over  imports  as  will  enable 
either  of  them  once  more  to  exercise  its  extraordinary  power 
of  absorbing  silver  currency.  There  may  be  some  further  re- 
action from  the  sort  of  panic  in  the  market  which  recently 
depressed  the  price  of  standard  silver  to  less  than  BOd.  per 
ounce;  but  the  fluctuations  of  value  in  the  markets  of  the  world 
caiised  by  speculative  movements  or  panics  are  of  short  dura- 
tion and  very  limited  extent.  Silver  may  not  again  fall  as 
low  as  it  was  in  July,  1876  ;  but  it  would  be  unreasonable  to 
expect  that  it  will  soon  recover  and  permanently  maintain  the 
price  which  it  commanded  in  1870. 

The  next  subject  of  inquiry  referred  to  this  Commission  con- 
cerns the  policy  of  a  "  restoration  of  the  double  standard  in 
this  country,  and,  if  restored,  what  the  legal  relation  between 
the  two  metals,  silver  and  gold,  should  be." 

As  the  value  of  any  commodity  whatever  depends  primarily 
upon  its  cost  of  production,  which  is  constantly  varying,  and  sec- 
ondarily upon  its  supply  and  demand,  which  are  also  extremely 
variable,  as  is  shown  by  the  incessant  fluctuations  of  mar- 
ket prices,  it  is  obvious  that  there  cannot  be  an  absolute  stand- 
ard of  value.  Such  a  standard  means  something  fixed  and  un- 
changeable, by  their  relation  to  which  all  other  valuables  may 
be  measured.  Now,  there  is  no  such  commodity  known  ;  every- 
thing varies  in  value  from  one  week  to  another,  both  from  in- 
trinsic causes  peculiar  to  itself,  such  as  its  inhei-ent  difficulty 
of  attainment,  and  from  extrinsic  causes  affecting  those  agents, 
labor  and  capital,  by  which  alone  this  difficulty  can  be  over- 
come. The  best  that  can  be  done  is  to  select  an  approximate 
standard  ;  that  is,  some  one  commodity  which  seems  more  stable 
than  any  other,  and  establish  that  by  law  as  the  standard  by 
which  the  values  of  all  other  commodities  are  to  be  measured. 
Legislation  is  competent  to  do  this,  and  practically  has  done  it 
both  in  England  and  Germany,  by  establishing  a  certain  num- 
ber of  grains  of  pure  gold,  coined  either  into  a  sovereign  or  a 
mark,  and  declaring  that  this  shall  be  the  common  measure  of 
value.  But  legislation  is  not  competent  to  select  tw<~>  siu-h  com- 
modities, and  to  declare  that  they  shall  both  be  the  standard  or 


46  A   MINORITY   REPORT   ON   THE   SILVER   QUESTION. 

common  measure  ;  or,  in  other  words,  that  there  shall  be  a 
double  standard.  To  attempt  to  do  so  is  as  absurd  as  it  would 
be  to  declare  by  law  that  two  clocks  should  both  be  the  stand- 
ard for  measuring  time,  though,  as  everybody  knows,  no  two 
clocks  can  be  made  which  shall  keep  perfect  time  with  each 
other. 

This  theoretical  view  of  the  matter  is  amply  confirmed  by 
experience.  Every  attempt  to  establish  the  so-called  "  double 
standard  "  has  been  a  failure.  The  first  step  toward  causing 
any  commodity  to  become  a  standard  of  value  is  to  make  it  a 
legal  tender  for  the  payment  of  debts.  But  though  the  law 
may  declare  that  either  of  two  commodities  shall  be  legal  ten- 
der, only  one  of  them,  and  that  the  cheaper  one,  is  actually 
adopted  as  a  medium  of  payment.  If  gold  and  silver  be  the 
two  commodities  chosen,  and  the  legal  relation  between  them  be 
made  to  conform  to  the  ratio  of  their  market  prices  at  the  time 
of  the  enactment,  the  fluctuations  of  the  market  will  speed- 
ily change  that  ratio  ;  and  then  the  overvalued  one  speedily 
pushes  the  other  out  of  circulation,  and  becomes  itself  the  sole 
standard  of  value.  It  appears  from  the  table  already  referred 
to,  showing  the  monthly  fluctuations  in  London  of  the  gold 
price  of  standard  silver  per  ounce,  that  this  price  remained  un- 
altered for  as  long  a  period  as  four  months  only  once  in  forty- 
three  years.  Usually  it  varied  every  month,  and  but  seldom 
remained  fixed  for  two  successive  months.  But  any  such  de- 
parture of  the  market  price  from  the  relative  value  of  the  two 
metals  as  established  by  law  must  cause  that  one  which  is  over- 
valued, or  of  which  the  nominal  exceeds  the  real  value,  to  dis- 
place the  other  and  take  the  whole  circulation  to  itself.  Al- 
ways the  bad  money  pushes  out  the  good,  as  every  one  will 
adopt  the  easiest  and  cheapest  means  of  paying  his  debts. 

Thus  France  attempted,  as  early  as  1803,  to  establish  a 
double  standard,  and  fixed  by  law  the  relative  value  of  the  two 
metals  at  1  to  15.. 5.  This  ratio  made  the  legal  price  of  pure 
silver  to  be  28.64  grains  of  pure  gold  per  ounce.  But  for  over 
forty  years  the  market  price  of  silver  did  not,  on  an  average, 
exceed  28.25  grains  of  pure  gold  per  ounce,  so  that  the  law 
overvalued  it  more  than  one  per  cent.  To  this  extent,  then, 
in  France,  silver  was  worth  more  as  coin  than  as  bullion,  while 


A  MINORITY   REPORT    ON   THE   SILVER   QUESTION.  47 

gold  was  worth  more  as  bullion  than  as  coin.  There  was  a 
profit  of  about  one  per  cent,  in  carrying  silver  to  the  mint  to 
be  coined,  and  in  melting  up  or  exporting  gold.  Of  course, 
silver  flowed  into  France  and  filled  up  the  circulation,  while 
gold  coins  disappeared,  or  could  be  obtained  only  at  a  premium. 
In  those  times,  when  one  was  paid  even  so  small  a  sum  as  one 
thousand  francs,  he  received  his  bulky  and  heavy  money  in  a 
canvas  bag,  and  had  to  hire  a  porter  or  a  cab  to  convey  it  home. 
During  the  six  years  before  1852,  the  excess  of  the  imports  of 
silver  into  France  over  the  exports  was  more  than  twenty-eight 
millions  sterling. 

The  discoveries  of  gold  in  California  and  Australia  about 
1850  reversed  this  state  of  things,  as  it  was  foreseen  that  gold 
must  fall  in  relative  value.  Hence  the  market  price  of  silver 
rose  above  its  mint  valuation,  and  consequently,  the  amount  of 
gold  presented  for  coinage  in  France  became  immense,  and 
there  was  a  drain  of  silver,  vast  quantities  of  which  were  melted 
down  and  shipped  to  India.  The  inconvenience  which  resulted 
from  the  want  of  small  change  had  to  be  met  by  reducing  the 
small  coinage  to  the  state  of  a  subsidiai'y  or  token  currency, 
all  pieces  of  two  francs  and  under  being  much  overvalued,  so 
that  they  could  not  be  exported  or  melted  up  without  consider- 
able loss.  But  the  silver  five-franc  piece  was  nominally  retained 
at  its  old  valuation,  and  to  fill  the  gap  caused  by  its  practical 
disappearance,  gold  five-franc  pieces  were  coined  to  a  large 
amount.  Like  our  own  gold  one-dollar  coins,  however,  these 
were  found  to  be  inconveniently  small,  and  the  coinage  of  them 
ceased  even  before  the  recent  depreciation  of  silver  brought  the 
silver  five-franc  pieces  again  into  circulation.  During  the  six 
years,  beginning  with  1852,  the  excess  of  the  exports  of  silver 
from  France  over  the  imports  was  more  than  forty-five  millions 
sterling. 

Hence  it  appears  that  the  French  attempt  to  establish  a 
double  standard  has  been  a  total  failure.  France  had  silver 
for  her  only  standard  from  1803  till  1850,  and  gold  for  her 
only  standard  ever  since.  Even  now,  since  the  recent  great  de- 
preciation of  silver,  i-estricting  the  coinage  of  that  metal  within 
very  narrow  limits  is  a  virtual  adherence  to  the  single  stand- 
ard of  gold.  The  corresponding  attempt  to  establish  a  double 


48  A   MINORITY   REPORT    ON   THE   SILVER   QUESTION. 

standard  in  the  United  States  resulted  in  a  similar  experience 
of  loss,  inconvenience,  and  failure. 

A  law  of  Congress  passed  in  1792  established  the  United 
States  mint,  and  so  regulated  the  coinage  that  both  24.75 
grains  of  pure  gold  and  371.25  grains  of  pure  silver  were  made 
legal  tender  for  a  dollar.  This  was  an  attempt  to  establish  the 
double  standard  on  the  ratio  of  1  to  15,  which  was  probably 
the  actual  ratio  of  the  market  prices  of  the  two  metals  at  that 
epoch.  But  silver  immediately  began  to  decline  in  price,  and 
before  1800  it  had  reached  the  ratio  of  15.42;  while  in  1803,  as 
we  have  seen,  even  the  French  ratio  of  15.5  had  become  too 
small.  Of  course,  the  overvalued  silver  filled  up  the  circulation 
almost  entirely  ;  the  whole  coinage  of  gold  for  forty  yeai'S  was 
less  than  twelve  millions  of  dollars  ;  and  this  little  was  for  the 
most  part  either  preserved  as  a  curiosity,  or  melted  up  and  ex- 
ported. A  gold  coin  was  seldom  seen,  and  silver  was  virtually 
the  only  standard.  This  was  not  the  worst.  As  the  silver 
dollar  had  been  made  to  conform  almost  precisely  in  weight 
and  fineness  to  the  Spanish  milled  dollar,  Spanish  quarters, 
eighths,  and  sixteenths,  usually  much  debased  by  abrasion  and 
clipping,  poured  into  the  country  through  our  trade  with  the 
Spanish  West  Indies  and  South  America,  and  soon  formed  al- 
most our  whole  fractional  currency.  A  small  Spanish  coin 
called  a  pistareen,  so  much  worn  as  hardly  to  be  worth  seven- 
teen, passed  current  for  twenty,  cents.  Vainly  did  the  United 
States  mint  issue  American  fractional  coins  of  full  weight  and 
value,  as  these  were  soon  melted  up,  and  the  bullion  sold  at  a 
high  profit  for  the  worn  Spanish  coins  which  were  equally  cur- 
rent. Never  was  there  a  better  illustration  of  the  principle 
that  bad  money  invariably  displaces  the  good. 

The  law  of  1834  remedied  these  evils  by  actually  lowering 
the  standard  more  than  six  per  cent.,  and  thereby  establishing 
the  relative  value  of  the  two  metals  at  1  to  10.  Instead  of 
24.75,  only  23.22  grains  of  pure  gold  were  coined  into  a  dol- 
lar, and  thereby  the  par  of  exchange  with  England,  which  had 
been  about  64.50,  was  raised  to  84.87,  for  the  pound  sterling. 
Moreover,  as  by  the  ratio  thus  established  silver  was  underval- 
ued about  three  per  cent.,  gold  began  to  be  issued  in  large 
quantities  and  came  into  general  use,  while  silver  pieces  of  the 


A   MINORITY   REPORT    ON   THE   SILVER   QUESTION.  49 

denomination  of  one  dollar  were  almost  entirely  thrown  out  of 
circulation,  and  the  silver  fractions  of  a  dollar  were  kept  in  use 
only  through  the  necessity  of  having  some  small  change,  and 
because,  being  much  handled,  they  soon  lost  a  portion  of  their 
weight  by  abrasion.  The  nuisance  of  the  much  worn  Spanish 
coins  was  gradually  abated  by  a  general  refusal  to  accept  them 
at  more  than  four  fifths  of  their  nominal  value.  Practically, 
then,  the  attempt  to  establish  a  double  standard  had  resulted 
in  lowering  the  whole  standard  more  than  six  per  cent.,  and 
in  establishing  first  silver,  and  then  gold,  as  the  sole  measure 
of  value. 

In  less  than  twenty  years,  the  fluctuations  of  price  in  the 
market  again  created  a  necessity  of  tinkering  the  so-called 
"double-standard"  currency.  Soon  after  1850,  silver  rose 
relatively  so  much  in  price  that  even  the  smaller  silver  coins 
began  to  be  melted  up  and  sold  as  bullion.  It  became  difficult 
to  effect  small  purchases,  or  to  obtain  "  change  "  for  a  dollar. 
Congress  had  now  to  undo  what  it  had  done  in  1884.  But  its 
action  was  reversed,  not  by  restoring  the  gold  dollar  to  its  for- 
mer full  weight  and  value,  but  by  diminishing  the  quantity  of 
silver  which  represented  a  dollar  just  about  as  much  as  it  had 
lessened  the  quantity  of  gold  in  the  dollar  nineteen  years  be- 
fore. The  law  of  1853  virtually  surrendered  the  double  stand- 
ard, and  made  gold  coin  the  only  available  legal  tender  for  any 
debt  over  five  dollars  ;  for  though  the  former  one-dollar  piece, 
containing  371.25  grains  of  pure  silver,  was  not  expressly  de- 
monetized, it  had  gone  out  of  use,  and  practically  remained 
out  of  use,  in  the  domestic  currency,  because  its  value  as  bull- 
ion had  come  to  exceed  by  about  three  per  cent,  its  value  as 
coin.  But  the  silver  fractional  denominations,  from  half  a  dol- 
lar downward,  were  reduced  to  the  state  of  a  subsidiary  or 
token  currency,  by  so  far  diminishing  their  weight  that  a  dol- 
lar's worth  of  them  contained  only  345. G  grains  of  pure  silver, 
and  by  making  them  legal  tender  only  for  an  amount  not  ex- 
ceeding five  dollars. 

Thus  gold  was  maintained  as  the  single  available  standard 
for  nine  years  longer,  when,  in  18(12,  the  issue  of  an  inconvert- 
ible paper  currency,  and  making  it  legal  tender,  practically 
abolished  every  standard  of  value,  and  introduced  the  state  of 


50  A   MINORITY   REPORT    ON   THE   SILVER   QUESTION. 

uncertainty,  of  wild  fluctuations  of  prices,  and  consequent  reck- 
less speculation,  from  the  evil  effects  of  which  the  country  has 
not  recovered  up  to  the  present  day.  In  1873,  however,  prob- 
ably as  a  precaution  against  the  great  depreciation  of  silver 
which  was  even  then  foreseen,  Congress  took  the  last  step 
toward  the  legal  establishment  of  the  single  gold  standard  by 
demonetizing  silver  altogether,  making  all  our  silver  coins  legal 
tender  only  for  an  amount  not  exceeding  five  dollars.1  The 
gain  which  would  accrue  from  manufacturing  silver  bullion 
into  coins  at  a  nominal  value  largely  exceeding  its  cost  was 
constituted  a  special  fund  for  making  good  "  the  wastage  ;  "  it 
might  more  properly  be  used  to  meet  the  heavy  loss  to  which  a 
silver  currency  is  always  subject  from  abrasion  and  clipping. 

In  the  opinion  of  the  undersigned,  it  is  expedient  to  take 
one  more  step  toward  assimilating  our  system  of  metallic  cur- 
rency to  that  of  England  and  the  commercial  world  generally. 
By  diminishing  the  quantity  of  pure  gold  in  the  dollar  only 
three  fifths  of  one  grain,  or  considerably  less  than  half  of  what 
the  law  of  1834  subtracted  from  it  without  producing  injury 
or  complaint,  our  American  half-eagle  or  five-dollar  piece  would 
become  almost  the  exact  equivalent  of  one  pound  sterling,  and 
would  differ  only  by  a  very  small  fraction  from  the  value  of 
twenty-five  (gold)  francs  in  France  and  the  other  States  of  the 
Latin  Monetary  Union,  and  from  twenty  (gold)  marks  in  Ger- 
many. Already  the  English  sovereign,  or  one  pound  sterling, 
is  a  recognized  portion  of  the  actual  currency  of  such  countries 
as  Portugal,  Brazil,  and  Egypt,  and  is  practically  current  at 
its  full  value  in  every  civilized  country.  Austria  has  recently 
coined  and  issued  gold  four-florin  and  eight-florin  pieces,  which, 
as  practical  equivalents  respectively  of  the  French  ten-franc 
and  twenty-franc  coins,  are  easily  expressed  as  definite  por- 
tions of  the  pound  sterling.  Hence  the  slight  change  here 
recommended  would  be  attended  with  the  following  important 
advantages  :  — 

1.  It  would  be  a  long  step  toward  establishing  one  monetary 
unit,  denomination  of  account,  and  standard  of  value  for  the 
whole  commercial  world. 

1  The  act  of  1873  put  a  stop  to  the  coinage  and  issue  of  the  one-dollar  piece 
containing  371.25  grains  of  pure  silver,  and  declared  that  the  one-dollar  gold  piece, 
containing  23.22  grains  of  pure  metal,  should  hereafter  be  the  unit  of  value. 


A   MINORITY   REPORT   ON   THE   SILVER  QUESTION.  51 

2.  It  would  greatly  facilitate  the  computation  and  settlement 
of  international  balances,  accounts,  and  exchanges. 

3.  It  would  be  the  strongest  possible  safeguard  for  the  fut- 
ure stability  of  the  standard  of  value,  as  all  nations  would  be 
interested  in  its  preservation,  and  it  could  not  be  effectively 
altered  without  their  unanimous  consent. 

4.  In  making  remittances  to  other  countries,  it  would   no 
longer  be  necessary  to  melt  the  coins  and  have  the  bullion  re- 
coined  at  considerable  charge  in  a  foreign  mint.     The  govern- 
ment would  no  longer  be  put  to  the  heavy  expense  of  coin- 
ing and  recoining  the  same  bullion,  which  had  been  first  sent 
abroad,  and  then  returned,  through  fluctuations  in  the  balance 
of  trade. 

5.  As  American  gold  coins  would  be  equally  current  every- 
where with  English  sovereigns,  New  York  would  share  at  least 
one  of  the  advantages  which  have  made  London  the  banking- 
house  and  commercial  centre  of  the  civilized  world. 

6.  In  the  language  of  Professor  Jevons,  "  a  world-wide  gold 
currency  of  unimpeachable  fidelity  and    excellence  would  be 
obtained  "  alike  from  British,  French,  German,  and  American 
mints." 

7.  It  would  much  facilitate  our  return  to  specie  payments, 
the  present  premium  on  gold,  five  and  one  half,  being  reduced 
immediately  to  about  three,  per  cent. 

Justice,  however,  requires  that  all  debts  and  contracts  ex- 
pressly made  payable  in  gold,  and  outstanding  on  the  date  of 
the  law  authorizing  this  change  in  the  coinage,  should  be  dis- 
charged only  by  tender  of  dollars  each  containing  23.22  grains 
of  pure  gold,  or  by  their  equivalent. 

After  what  now  has  been  said,  it  is  hardly  necessary  to  con- 
sider the  third  subject  proposed  by  Congress  to  this  Commis- 
sion, namely,  "  the  policy  of  continuing  legal-tender  notes  con- 
currently with  the  metallic  standards."  As  it  has  been  proved 
both  by  theory  and  experience  that  a  double  standard  is  an  il- 
lusion and  a  failure,  every  attempt  to  establish  it  having  led  to 
frequent  changes  of  legislation,  and  to  great  inconvenience  and 
uncertainty  in  commercial  affairs,  any  project  for  creating  a 
triple  standard  ought  to  be  summarily  rejected  as  impracticable 
and  absurd.  The  law  may  say  that  either  a  gold  dollar,  a  silver 


52  A  MINORITY   REPORT   ON   THE   SILVER   QUESTION. 

dollar,  or  a  paper  dollar  shall  be  indiscriminately  legal  tender; 
but  the  only  actual  tender  ever  made  for  the  payment  of  a  debt 
will  be  that  one  which,  at  the  time,  is  the  cheapest  of  the  three. 
Hence  the  most  effectual  means  of  rapidly  debasing  the  stand- 
ard, that  is,  of  depreciating  the  value  of  a  dollar,  will  be  to 
authorize  any  one  to  cancel  debts  outstanding  against  him  by 
proffering  in  payment  that  one  out  of  three  different  kinds  of 
dollars  which  happens  at  the  moment  to  be  of  the  smallest 
value,  especially  when,  as  during  the  last  year,  the  three  are 
rapidly  and  largely  changing  their  relative  values.  Only  last 
July,  the  so-called  "  trade  dollar,"  the  heaviest  and  most  valu- 
able one  ever  coined,  was  worth  about  .86,  and  the  "  greenback  " 
paper  dollar  about  .89,  of  a  gold  dollar.  Five  months  later, 
these  proportions  were  reversed  ;  the  trade-dollar  had  risen  in 
value  to  .9-H,  and  the  greenback  to  92i-,  in  gold.  What  sort 
of  a  standard  would  they  have  been,  either  separately  or  to- 
gether, when  they  are  liable  to  such  fluctuations  both  in  their 
relative  and  absolute  values  in  less  than  six  months  ?  As  there 
was  no  apparent  change  in  the  average  price  of  commodities  in 
general  between  July  and  December,  1876,  we  may  be  sure 
that  the  value  of  the  gold  dollar  during  that  interval  remained 
without  alteration.  Yet,  under  the  attempt  to  create  a  triple 
standard,  it  is  certain  that  the  gold  dollar  would  have  been  the 
only  one  which,  during  those  five  months,  could  not  have  come 
into  use. 

Whatever,  then,  might  be  the  intention  of  Congress  in  at- 
tempting to  create  a  double  or  triple  standard,  it  is  certain 
that  the  actual  consequence  of  such  attempt  must  be  to  exclude 
gold  altogether,  and  to  make  either  silver  or  the  legal-tender 
note  the  only  measure  of  value,  and  the  only  medium  for  the 
payment  of  debts.  We  have,  therefore,  merely  to  consider 
whether  it  is  expedient  and  just  to  establish  either  of  these  two 
forms  of  money,  in  preference  to  gold,  as  the  sole  standard. 

Money,  properly  so  called,  has  two  perfectly  distinct  func- 
tions to  perform.  It  must  be  capable  of  use  both  as  a  standard 
of  value  and  as  a  medium  of  exchange.  It  is  obvious  that  the 
former  of  these  functions  is  by  far  the  more  important.  As  to* 
the  latter,  almost  any  commodity,  even  any  ticket  of  transfer 
or  token  of  debt,  though  without  any  intrinsic  value,  may  be 


A   MINORITY    REPORT    ON    THE   SILVER   QUESTION.  53 

made  to  serve  perfectly  well  as  a  medium  of  exchange,  the 
question  which  of  them  is  to  be  preferred  for  this  purpose  be- 
ing determined  solely  by  considering  which  is  the  most  con- 
venient. Silver,  copper,  nickel,  bank-checks,  railroad-tickets, 
postage-stamps,  accounts-current  or  offsets  of  sales  against  pur- 
chases, and  the  like,  may  serve  as  media  to  facilitate  the  trans- 
fer of  those  commodities  which  are  the  only  real  objects  of 
barter  and  sale.  What  is  called  a  subsidiary  or  token  currency, 
whether  it  be  silver,  copper,  or  nickel,  is  of  this  nature,  the  law 
affixing  a  definite  limit  both  to  the  amount  of  it  in  use,  and  to 
the  extent  to  which  it  shall  be  a  legal  tender,  and  also  giving 
it  a  conventional,  often  differing  from  its  intrinsic,  relation  to 
the  real  measure  of  value. 

Far  otherwise  is  it  with  the  other  function  of  money,  that  of 
serving  as  a  standard  of  value,  as  on  the  proper  execution  of 
this  office  some  of  the  most  momentous  interests  of  the  whole 
community  are  entirely  dependent.  The  very  life  of  trade,  and 
of  confidence  between  man  and  man,  depends  on  the  due  per- 
formance of  contracts,  on  the  successful  maintenance  of  a  sys- 
tem of  credit,  and  on  the  anticipation  of  what  will  be  the  rela- 
tive value  of  money  and  commodities  at  some  future  day.  Very 
few  mercantile  transactions  are  really  completed  at  the  time 
when  the  bargains  are  first  made,  or  when  the  commodities  af- 
fected first  change  hands.  Nearly  all  of  them,  either  directly, 
or  in  their  necessary  and  intended  consequences,  extend  into 
a  more  or  less  remote  future.  The  trader  buys  only  in  order  to 
sell  again,  it  may  be  the  next  week,  the  next  month,  or  the  next 
year.  In  every  commercial  community,  far  the  larger  portion 
of  the  sales  which  are  effected  are  made  on  credit ;  that  is,  on 
promises  of  payment  at  some  future  day.  And  the  debt  thus 
contracted,  through  the  agency  of  banks  and  other  financial  in- 
stitutions, becomes  itself  an  object  of  barter  and  sale,  which 
are  again  dependent  on  trust  in  the  future.  Even  in  the  case 
of  cash  sales  of  commodities  for  speedy  consumption,  the  pur- 
chaser's choice  of  the  time  and  place  for  the  transaction  usually 
depends  on  his  estimate  of  what  prices  are,  or  will  be,  else- 
where or  on  some  future  day.  All  such  bargains,  expectations, 
and  promises  must  be  expressed,  and,  if  necessary,  registered, 
in  the  common  denomination  of  account,  —  in  francs,  pounds 


54  A   MINORITY   REPORT   ON   THE   SILVER   QUESTION. 

sterling,  or  dollars ;  and  any  uncertainty  as  to  the  future  value 
of  this  denomination  of  account  must  discourage  individuals 

O 

from  engaging  in  the  transaction,  or,  if  not  foreseen,  must 
work  hardship  and  injustice  to  them  in  the  result.  And  these 
evils  may  all  be  caused,  not  only  by  any  actual  alteration  of 
the  standard  within  the  period  of  time  belonging  to  the  trans- 
action or  the  contract,  but  by  any  reasonable  grounds  of  fear 
that,  within  that  time,  it  may  fluctuate  in  value.  Any  depreci- 
ation of  the  currency,  if  foreseen  a  few  weeks  before  its  occur- 
rence, may  be  so  far  anticipated  and  exaggerated  in  its  effects 
upon  the  market,  that  a  very  considerable  rise  of  prices  may 
take  place  some  time  before  the  currency  is  depreciated  at  all ; 
and  then,  owing  to  the  reaction  of  disappointed  hopes  and  fears, 
the  real  depreciation,  when  it  comes,  may  be  contemporaneous 
with  a  considerable  fall  in  prices.  Trade  thus  becomes  a  lot- 
tery, and  legitimate  enterprises  in  commerce  and  manufactures 
must  either  be  abandoned  altogether,  or  kept  up  under  a  heavy 
cost  of  insurance  against  the  uncertainty  of  the  returns.  The 
enhancement  of  prices  produced  by  such  insurance  takes  place 
without  any  of  that  compensation  to  the  consumers,  embracing 
the  whole  laboring  class  in  the  community,  which  arises  from 
a  corresponding  increase  in  their  income  or  wages. 

In  the  opinion  of  the  undersigned,  to  adopt  silver  for  the 
standard  dollar  would  be  a  greater  discouragement  to  manu- 
factures and  trade,  and  would  do  more  harm,  to  all  the  great 
industrial  interests  of  the  country,  than  even  the  continuance 
of  the  present  wretched  system  of  an  inconvertible  paper  cur- 
rency. Not  only  during  the  last  year  has  silver  undergone 
greater  and  more  rapid  fluctuations  in  price  than  paper,  but 
the  causes  of  its  fluctuation  are  more  difficult  to  be  discovered, 
and  less  controllable,  because  wholly  out  of  reach  by  legisla- 
tion. By  a  very  moderate  and  gradual  contraction  of  the  legal- 
tender  currency,  it  is  certain  that  Congress  can  prevent  the 
paper  dollar  from  sinking  below  its  present  value,  and,  by  a 
few  other  well  considered  measures,  can  steadily  raise  its  value 
to  par  without  spreading  alarm,  or  creating  any  disturbance  in 
the  markets,  or  perilling  any  interest  but  those  of  the  stock- 
jobbers, even  before  the  time  IIOAV  fixed  by  law  for  the  resump- 
tion of  specie  payments.  But  in  view  of  recent  experience, 


A   MINORITY   REPORT   ON   THE   SILVER   QUESTION.  55 

who  can  tell  what  the  price  of  silver  will  be  six  months  hence, 
or  what  legislative  enactment  can  increase  or  diminish  that 
price  a  single  penny  ?  As  well  might  a  legislator  attempt  by 
taking  thought  to  add  one  cubit  to  his  stature.  Yet  the  only 
apparent  motive  for  urging  the  adoption  of  a  silver  standard  in 
the  United  States,  at  the  very  time  when  all  Europe  seems  to 
be  on  the  point  of  discarding  it,  is  the  vain  expectation  that 
an  act  of  Congress  may  have  the  effect,  in  the  stock-jobbers' 
phrase,  of  bulling  the  price  of  silver  throughout  the  markets 
of  the  world.  Granted  that  such  an  act  might  create  a  mar- 
ket for  the  silver  which  still  remains  to  be  sold  by  Germany 
and  other  European  countries,  it  certainly  could  not  restrict 
the  productiveness  of  the  mines  in  the  Com  stock  lode,  or  re- 
store to  British  India  and  China  their  former  power  of  absorb- 
ing the  surplus  silver  of  the  civilized  portions  of  the  globe.  It 
would  not  be  becoming  for  the  dignity,  as  it  certainly  would  be 
prejudicial  to  the  interests,  of  the  United  States  to  engage  in 
an  operation  equivalent  to  stock-jobbing,  by  making  heavy  pur- 
chases on  a  falling  market  of  a  commodity  generally  discred- 
ited elsewhere,  in  the  idle  hope  of  raising  and  controlling  its 
price.  The  benefits  of  such  an  operation,  if  any,  would  be 
reaped  only  by  the  stockholders  in  silver  mines,  while  the  in- 
convenience and  loss  would  be  sustained  by  the  people. 

There  are  special  reasons  why  silver  is  less  eligible  than  gold 
for  the  chief  place  in  a  metallic  currency.  Its  weight  and  bulk 
are  too  great  in  proportion  to  its  value,  so  that  it  is  very  in- 
convenient for  use  in  large  transactions,  and  for  the  settlement 
of  international  balances.  Its  proper  place  is  a  subordinate 
one,  being  well  fitted  for  small  retail  purchases  and  adjusting 
the  fractional  portions  of  accounts.  And  this  place,  as  a  sub- 
sidiary or  token  currency,  seems  to  be  now  determinately 
marked  out  for  it  throughout  Europe.  We  learn  from  the  Di- 
rector of  the  United  States  mint,  that  one  million  of  dollars 
in  gold  coins  weighs  1  ton,  10  hundred-weight,  86  pounds ; 
while  the  same  value  in  "  trade-dollars  "  amounts  to  30  tons, 
and  in  subsidiary  silver  coins,  to  a  little  over  27  tons,  11  hun- 
dred-weight. Any  one  who  was  in  France  about  1840,  when 
silver  was  virtually  the  only  standard,  and  no  bank-bills  were 
in  use  of  a  less  denomination  than  one  hundred  francs,  will  re- 


56  A   MINORITY   REPORT    OX    THE   SILVER   QUESTION. 

member  how  burdensome  and  inconvenient  this  form  of  money 
seemed. 

Another  and  more  serious  objection  to  the  use  of  silver  cur- 
rency is  its  liability  to  considerable  loss  of  weight  and  value  by 
abrasion  and  clipping.  Gold  coins  are  but  little  exposed  to 
deterioration  from  these  causes.  Having  considerable  value  in 
small  bulk,  they  are  closely  scrutinized  when  offered  in  pay- 
ment, and  if  light  in  weight  are  rejected,  so  that  worn  and 
clipped  coins,  so  to  speak,  never  get  a  foothold  in  the  currency. 
But  silver  pieces,  especially  the  fractions  of  a  dollar,  because 
their  value  is  comparatively  trifling,  are  not  closely  examined, 
and  so  still  pass  current,  though  their  original  value  has  been 
much  impaired. 

By  a  careful  and  extensive  series  of  experiments,  weighing 
a  large  number  of  (gold)  sovereigns  taken  at  random  from 
those  which  had  been  a  long  or  short  time  in  circulation,  Pro- 
fessor Jevons  ascertained  that  the  loss  by  abrasion  on  each  coin 
was  almost  always  exactly  proportional  to  the  number  of  years 
it  had  been  in  use.  He  was  thus  enabled  further  to  ascertain, 
that  the  average  annual  loss  of  weight  by  each  sovereign  was 
forty-three  thousandths  of  one  grain.  In  twenty-six  years  of 
use,  therefore,  it  will  have  lost  by  abrasion  about  one  per  cent, 
of  its  value.  In  the  same  manner,  he  found  the  average  an- 
nual wear  of  the  Art//-sovereign  to  be  sixty-nine  thousandths 
of  a  grain,  or  more  than  half  as  much  again  as  that  of  a  whole 
sovereign.  The  smaller  coin,  therefore,  loses  by  friction  one 
per  cent,  of  its  value  in  about  sixteen  and  a  quarter  years,  this 
greater  loss  being  attributable  to  its  exposing  more  surface  in 
proportion  to  its  weight,  and  to  its  being  more  rapidly  handled 
in  purchases  at  retail. 

We  do  not  know  that  any  equally  careful  experiments  have 
been  made  to  ascertain  how  much  silver  coins  lose  annually  by 
abrasion  :  but  a  tolerably  good  estimate  may  be  formed  by  com- 
parison of  the  two  cases.  Other  things  being  equal,  the  loss 
will  be  proportioned  to  the  amount  of  surface  exposed  to  fric- 
tion, and  also  to  the  frequency  and  carelessness  with  which  the 
coins  are  handled.  Now,  a  shilling  exposes  to  wear  about  as 
much  surface  as  a  sovereign,  and  therefore,  from  this  cause 
alone,  a  pound  sterling  in  silver  shillings  will  lose  annually  by 


A   MINORITY   REPORT    ON   THE   SILVER   QUESTION.  57 

abrasion  twenty  times  as  much  as  the  same  value  in  one  gold 
piece.  Moreover,  in  the  numberless  petty  transactions  of 
every-day  life,  shillings  are  circulated  far  more  rapidly  and 
carelessly  than  sovereigns,  and  their  consequent  loss  by  friction 
must  thus  be  much  increased.  Then  the  estimate  formed  by 
the  best  authorities  seems  a  reasonable  one  :  that  the  annual 
loss  on  silver  coins  by  abrasion  is  at  least  one  per  cent. 

Hence  it  appears  that  the  cost  of  repair,  the  difficulty  of 
maintaining  the  currency  in  full  weight  and  good  condition,  is 
at  least  twenty-six  times  as  great  for  silver  coins  as  for  gold 
ones.  If  the  government  neglects  its  duty  of  making  good  at 
considerable  expense  this  annual  deterioration  by  wear,  the 
state  of  a  silver  currency  soon  becomes  deplorable.  After 
some  years  of  ordinary  active  use,  the  coins  betray  their  loss 
of  weight  by  their  worn  and  defaced  appearance  ;  and  the  evil 
is  increased  and  made  universal  by  dishonest  persons,  who 
pick  out  from  the  circulation  the  pieces  freshly  issued  from  the 
mint,  and  others  which  happen  to  be  less  worn,  and  by  punch- 
ing or  clipping  reduce  them  to  the  average,  or  below  the  aver- 
age, of  debasement.  Also,  as  the  coins  now  pass  perhaps  for 
ten  per  cent,  more  than  they  are  worth,  foreign  silver  coins  of 
inferior  weight  are  attracted  from  neighboring  countries  to  a 
place  where  they  are  current  for  a  higher  value  than  they  pos- 
sess at  home  ;  and  the  task  of  expelling  these  intruders  is  by  no 
means  an  easy  one.  Already,  though  our  fractional  silver  cur- 
rency has  been  but  very  recently  restored  to  use,  worn  Canadian 
and  Spanish  u  quarters"  and  punched  American  coins  have  be- 
gun to  appear  in  circulation.  If  remedial  measures  are  not 
adopted,  our  silver  currency  will  soon  be  again  in  as  bad  condi- 
tion as  it  was  just  before  1830,  or  as  that  of  England  before 
the  recoinage  of  1G9G,  or  as  that  of  Germany  before  her  aban- 
donment of  the  silver  standard  in  1873. 

The  evil  in  question  is  not  so  considerable,  and  a  remedy  for 
it  is  not  so  difficult  to  be  had,  if  silver  be  restricted  to  its  only 
proper  monetary  function,  that  of  furnishing  a  subsidiary  or 
token  currencv.  No  one  is  then  obliged  to  receive  the  deteri- 

*/  O 

orated  coins  except  to  the  small  amount  for  which  they  are 
legal  tender  ;  and  as  the  whole  quantity  in  circulation  is  not 
very  great,  and  the  government  have  reaped  a  large  profit  by 


58  A   MINORITY   REPORT    ON   THE   SILVER   QUESTION. 

issuing  it  at  a  rate  considerably  above  its  intrinsic  value,  this 
profit  may  properly  be  made  a  fund  for  defraying  the  expense 
of  constantly  withdrawing  the  light  coins,  and  filling  the 
vacuum  with  others  of  full  weight  fresh  from  the  mint.  In 
this  way,  England  and  France  of  late  years  have  kept  their 
subsidiary  silver  coins  in  perfectly  good  condition,  the  former 
country  usually  issuing  new  and  perfect  pieces  each  year  to 
the  amount  of  £300,000,  yet  without  at  all  increasing  the  vol- 
ume of  this  portion  of  the  currency,  because  old  and  worn 
coins  to  the  same  amount  are  withdrawn. 

But  if  silver  is  made  legal  tender  for  any  amount  whatever 
—  and  that  is  what  the  project  of  a  double  or  triple  standard 
means  —  gold  will  disappear  from  circulation,  no  fund  will  be 
available  to  defray  the  considerable  cost  of  annual  repairs,  and 
both  the  United  States  treasury  and  the  country  generally 
will  be  reduced  to  the  condition  in  which  British  India  is  al- 
ready placed,  with  liabilities  both  abroad  and  at  home,  which 
are  payable  only  in  gold,  but  with  taxes,  wages,  and  dividends 
receivable  in  a  metal  which  may  again,  as  during  the  last  year, 
lose  sixteen  per  cent,  of  its  value  within  six  months. 

A  few  persons  who  do  not  understand  the  subject  imagine, 
that  if  the  Mint  and  the  Treasury  be  required,  under  the  sys- 
tem of  a  double  standard,  freely  to  exchange  gold  dollars  for 
silver  ones  at  par,  or  the  reverse,  whenever  such  exchange  is 
demanded,  then  neither  metal  could  fall  below  the  value  of  the 
other.  Certainly  it  could  not,  within  the  limits  of  the  country 
foolish  enough  to  act  thus,  and  during  the  few  weeks  which 
could  elapse  before  its  mint  and  treasury  would  be  drained  of 
their  last  gold  dollar.  For,  suppose  the  price  of  silver  should 
fall  in  the  London  market  only  two  per  cent,  below  its  former 
value  relative  to  gold ;  then  any  person,  by  shipping  thence 
nine  hundred  and  eighty  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  silver  bull- 
ion, could  receive  for  it  here  one  million  of  dollars,  and  could 
repeat  this  operation  indefinitely,  or  until  stopped  by  the  bank- 
ruptcy of  our  mint.  A  compulsory  union  of  the  dearer  metal 
with  the  cheaper  one  could  permanently  establish  an  equality 
of  value  between  them  only  if  the  unequal  marriage  were  sanc- 
tioned by  all  the  nations  of  the  earth.  But  as  probably  both 
England  and  Germany  would  at  once  forbid  the  banns,  this 


A  MINORITY  REPORT   ON   THE   SILVER   QUESTION.  59 

project  of  M.  Czernuschi  is  not  likely  to  be  soon  carried  into 
operation.1 

The  undersigned  sees  no  objection,  however,  to  a  consider- 
able enlargement  of  the  limits  within  which  the  subsidiary  silver 
currency  is  now  issued  and  made  a  legal  tender,  paper  money 
being  withdrawn  to  an  extent  equivalent  to  the  enlarged  issue 
thus  made,  as  has  been  already  done  in  the  case  of  the  silver 
fractions  of  a  dollar,  so  that  the  aggregate  volume  of  the  cur- 
rency shall  not  be  increased.  An  important  step  would  thus  be 
taken  toward  a  resumption  of  specie  payments,  and  a  reason- 
able concession  would  be  made  to  those  who  desire  a  larger  use 
of  silver  money.  Dollars  might  be  coined  each  containing 
345.6  grains  of  pure  silver,  be  made  legal  tender  to  an  amount 
not  exceeding  twenty  dollars,  and  be  issued  only  in  exchange 
for  paper  money,  whether  greenbacks  or  national  bank  notes,  of 
any  denomination  below  five  dollars,  the  notes  thus  received 
in  exchange  being  immediately  cancelled  and  destroyed.  A 
burdensome  redundancy  of  silver  thus  thrown  into  circulation 
might  be  prevented  by  making  it  receivable  by  the  Treasury  to 
any  amount,  in  payment  of  all  dues  to  the  government  which 
are  not  by  law  made  payable  only  in  gold.  These  silver  dol- 
lars would  be  a  convenient  and  unexceptionable  medium  of  ex- 
change, and  as  they  would  not  be  a  standard  of  value,  they 
could  not  introduce  any  uncertainty  about  the  just  fulfilment 
of  contracts.  They  could  not  be  melted  up  or  exported  with- 
out loss,  and  as  receivable  by  the  government  to  any  amount, 
they  could  not  become  depreciated  in  the  market.  The 
amount  of  one-dollar  and  two-dollar  notes  now  in  circulation 
is  about  sixty-five  millions  of  dollars.  These  would  all  be 
gradually  withdrawn,  and  their  place  would  be  filled  by  silver 
coin  in  all  retail  transactions. 

We  come  now  to  the  last  subject  which  this  Commission  is 
required  to  consider,  namely,  "  the  best  means  for  facilitating 
the  resumption  of  specie  payments."  In  the  opinion  of  the 

1  They  have  forbidden  the  banns.  At  the  International  Monetary  Conference, 
convened  at  the  request  of  our  government  at  Paris,  in  August,  1878,  the  Com- 
missioners of  no  one  of  the  European  nations  there  represented  were  willing  to 
sanction  any  attempt  to  cause  gold  and  silver  to  circulate  side  by  side  at  a  fixed 
ratio  of  value.  The  project  was  summarily  denounced  by  them  as  Quixotic  and 
impracticable. 


60  A   MINORITY   REPORT    ON   THE   SILVER  QUESTION. 

undersigned,  the  two  measures  already  herein  proposed  would 
go  far  toward  accomplishing  such  resumption  without  creating 
any  disturbance  in  the  markets,  without  any  injurious  shock  of 
sudden  transition,  and  without  harming  any  class  or  interest 
that  can  rightfully  claim  to  be  protected  by  the  government. 
Each  of  these  measures  is  a  concession  to  one  or  the  other  of 
the  only  two  parties  who  now  appear  to  be  hostile  to  such  re- 
sumption. Reducing  the  quantity  of  pure  gold  in  the  dollar 
to  22.6  grains,  through  bringing  it  so  much  nearer  the  present 
value  of  the  legal-tender  (greenback)  note,  favors  those  of  the 
indebted  class  who  fear  that  resumption  will  make  it  more  dif- 
ficult for  them  to  pay  their  debts.  Substituting  silver  for  all 
notes  below  the  denomination  of  five  dollars  will  be  as  large  a 
measure  of  protection  to  what  may  be  called  "  the  silver  inter- 
est" as  can  reasonably  be  asked  from  Congress.  Should  these 
two  recommendations  be  adopted,  it  is  reasonable  to  believe 
that  the  premium  on  gold  would  continue  to  decline  as  fast, 
and  also  as  uniformly  and  innocuously,  as  it  has  done  since 
March  9,  1876  ;  and  since  its  fall,  within  ten  months  after  that 
date,  from  fifteen  to  five  and  a  half  per  cent.,  so  far  from  creat- 
ing any  injury  or  disturbance,  has  been  attended  with  a  consid- 
erable growth  of  confidence  and  revival  of  trade,  there  are  no 
grounds  for  apprehending  any  evil  consequences  through  its 
further  decline  from  three  per  cent,  to  zero.  The  paper  dollar 
having  thus  risen  to  its  par  value,  specie  payments  might 
safely  be  resumed  some  time  before  the  period  now  fixed  by 
law,  as  the  amount  of  surplus  gold  already  in  the  treasury 
would  be  quite  sufficient  to  meet  the  very  moderate  demands 
which  would  then  be  made  upon  it  to  redeem  its  notes. 

In  order  to  make  sure  of  this  further  decline,  however,  and 
also  to  diminish  what  would  still  be  the  excessive  volume  of 
paper  currency,  the  Secretary  of  the  Treasury  should  be  en- 
abled and  required  gradually  to  lessen  the  amount  of  it  in  cir- 
culation. He  is  already  authorized  to  sell  United  States  bonds 
for  gold  as  a  means  of  providing  for  resumption,  and  also  to 
sell  the  gold  so  obtained  and  receive  legal-tender  notes  in  pay- 
ment. These  notes  he  should  be  required  to  destroy,  to  the 
amount  of  three  millions  of  dollars  a  month,  none  others  being 
issued  in  their  place.  This  would  only  be  to  continue,  under 


A   MINORITY    REPORT    ON   THE   SILVER   QUESTION.  61 

the  authority  of  law,  the  same  rate  of  contraction  which  has 
spontaneously  taken  place  during  the  last  twenty-two  months. 
These  preliminary  measures  being  adopted,  Congress  might 
safely  and  justly  repeal  all  laws  which  "make  anything  but 
gold  and  silver  coin  a  legal  tender  in  payment  of  debts." 

It  is  evident,  then,  that  the  accumulation  of  more  gold  in 
the  Treasury  is  not  a  necessary  means  or  preliminary  for  the 
resumption  of  specie  payments.  The  legal-tender  notes  orig- 
inally issued  in  payment  of  debts  due  from  the  United  States 
are  redeemed  and  discharged  when  received  as  an  equivalent  for 
the  same  amount  of  debts  due  to  the  United  States,  none  others 
being  issued  in  their  place.  In  fact,  the  process  of  redemption 
is  constantly  going  on  through  the  receipts  from  internal  taxa- 
tion and  other  sources  ;  and  this  process  is  made  final,  simply 
by  not  paying  out  again  these  notes  or  any  others,  and  making 
what  provision  may  be  necessary  to  discharge  the  ordinary  ob- 
ligations of  the  Treasury,  either  by  imposing  additional  taxes 
or  by  the  sale  of  bonds.  During  the  last  fiscal  year,  about  one 
hundred  and  twenty-five  millions  of  these  notes  were  received  as 
internal  revenue  and  from  the  sale  of  the  public  lands ;  and  if 
none  others  had  been  issued  in  their  place,  resumption  would, 
before  this  time,  have  been  complete,  and  accomplished,  too, 
by  a  process  so  gradual  and  harmless  that  none  but  those 
who  closely  watch  the  financial  operations  of  the  government 
would  have  been  aware  that  anything  unusual  was  going  on. 

What  is  to  be  feared  from  making  silver  an  unlimited  legal 
tender  is  not  so  much  a  depreciation  of  the  standard  of  value, 
as  the  recurrence  of  the  sudden  and  great  fluctuations  in  the 
market  prices  of  commodities,  and  of  the  reckless  speculation 
in  commerce,  mining,  and  manufactures,  which  are  properly  at- 
tributable, as  in  the  case  of  paper  money,  to  having  no  stand- 
ard at  all.  What  we  dread  is  not  the  fall,  but  the  fluctuation, 
in  value  of  the  would-be  standard,  and  the  feeling  of  uncer- 
tainty thereby  produced  ;  and  this  dread  is  only  confirmed  and 
enhanced  by  the  recovery  in  the  market  price  of  silver,  within 
the  last  six  months,  from  about  4~d.  to  o8\d.  an  ounce,  being 
about  all  that  it  had  lost  during  the  earlier  part  of  the  year 
1876.  Against  this  uncertainty,  and  its  depressing  effect  upon 
all  legitimate  enterprise,  industry,  and  trade,  nothing  can  pro- 


62  A  MINORITY  REPORT   ON   THE   SILVER   QUESTION. 

tect  us.  The  discovery  of  more  bonanzas  in  the  Corastock 
lode,  the  further  demonetization  of  silver  by  France  and  Hol- 
land, or  a  still  more  unfavorable  balance  of  trade  in  British 
India,  may  send  the  price  of  that  metal  down  again  during  the 
next  half  year  lower  than  ever.  With  such  a  contingency 
hanging  over  it,  commerce  does  not  start  into  full  activity  and 
industry  is  paralyzed. 

Those  who  still  fear  that  a  resumption  of  gold  payments 
would  be  prejudicial  to  our  financial  interests,  and  do  wrong 
as  well  as  harm  to  the  indebted  classes,  ought  to  learn  from 
the  experience  of  the  last  three  years,  and  especially  from  that 
of  the  year  which  has  just  ended,  that  their  apprehensions  are 
groundless.  The  war  prices,  the  wild  speculations,  and  exces- 
sive personal  expenditures,  which  had  been  created  and  fostered 
by  the  immense  issues  of  paper  money  in  1864  and  1865,  and 
maintained  by  the  convulsive  efforts  of  those  who  had  been 
enormously  enriched  by  these  events,  reached  at  length  their 
inevitable  issue,  and  came  to  an  end  all  at  once  in  the  crisis  of 
September,  1873.  More  than  ever  before  during  the  present 
century,  rents  and  prices  fell,  real  estate  ceased  to  be  market- 
able, merchants  went  into  bankruptcy,  railroads  passed  into 
the  hands  of  receivers,  manufactories  stopped,  the  incomes  of 
persons  not  in  active  business  but  living  on  their  private  means 
were  cut  off,  and  the  laboring  classes  were  thrown  out  of  em- 
ployment. Great  as  was  the  calamity,  however,  after  the 
storm  had  cleared  the  air,  a  revival  would  probably  have  be- 
gun in  less  than  a  twelve-month,  as  had  been  the  case  in  all 
former  commercial  crises,  had  not  the  Secretary  of  the  Treas- 
ury so  far  strained  his  authority  beyond  all  law  or  precedent 
as  to  throw  upon  the  market,  without  any  express  sanction  by 
Congress,  an  additional  issue  of  twenty-six  millions  of  paper 
money,  with  the  threat  that  it  might  be  followed  by  eighteen 
millions  more.  Then,  indeed,  people  did  not  know  what  to 
expect ;  confidence  broke  down  entirely  ;  capitalists  preferred 
to  allow  their  funds  to  remain  idle,  rather  than  to  make  loans 
which  might  be  repaid  in  dollars  not  worth  half  as  much  as 
those  which  had  been  borrowed ;  and  what  might  have  been 
merely  a  temporary  convulsion,  followed  by  the  glow  of  re- 
viving health  and  strength,  passed  over  into  that  general  pa- 


A  MINORITY  REPORT   ON  THE   SILVER  QUESTION.  63 

ralysis  of  trade  and  industry  which  we  have  witnessed  during 
the  last  three  years. 

Experience  has  demonstrated  that  the  cause  of  this  pro- 
longed evil,  which  has  brought  multitudes  of  industrious  and 
deserving  persons  to  the  brink  of  penury  and  ruin,  was  not 
what  the  inflationists  call  a  "  lack  of  money."  When  the  calam- 
ity was  at  its  height,  as  it  was  throughout  1875  and  the  early 
part  of  1876,  there  was  no  lack,  but  rather  a  superabundance, 
of  money,  the  banks  and  the  capitalists  having  more  than  they 
knew  what  to  do  with.  Hence  they  were  eager  to  let  it  on 
undoubted  security,  such  as  government  stock,  and  on  call,  as 
the  phrase  is,  so  that  there  would  be  no  time  or  opportunity 
for  its  depreciation,  at  as  low  a  rate  as  three,  or  even  as  two 
and  one  half,  per  cent.  With  a  circulation  then  amounting  to 
nearly  seven  hundred  and  forty  millions  of  paper  dollars,  which 
at  that  time  were  worth  about  eighty-seven  cents  apiece,  and 
which,  because  commerce  and  industry  were  paralyzed,  were 
freely  offered  on  call  at  three  per  cent,  interest,  it  would  surely 
have  been  absurd  to  call  for  the  issue  of  "  more  money  "  as  a 
means' of  rescuing  the  country  from  its  difficulties. 

At  length,  especially  during  the  latter  half  of  the  year  1876, 
the  evil  began  to  cure  itself,  and  that,  too,  by  means  which 
clearly  indicate  that  the  undue  inflation,  and  consequent  fluct- 
uating value,  of  the  currency  had  been  the  sole  original  source 
and  the  aggravation  of  the  difficulty.  Spontaneously,  without 
any  aid  from  legislation,  or  any  concert  between  individuals  or 
the  banks,  the  paper  currency  began  to  contract  itself.  Unable 
to  make  any  profitable  use  of  their  funds,  because  credit  was 
dead  in  the  community,  and  the  wings  of  enterprise  were  clipped, 
many  of  the  banks  voluntarily  surrendered  their  circulation 
altogether  or  in  part,  and  either  retired  from  the  business,  or 
confined  their  operations  to  what  are  the  only  two  proper  func- 
tions of  a  banking  institution,  —  those  of  deposit  and  discount. 
They  were  thus  relieved  from  some  heavy  taxes,  and  were  able 
to  withdraw  their  United  States  stock,  deposited  as  security 
to  redeem  their  circulation,  and  by  selling  this  stock  at  the 
advanced  prices  which  it  commands  in  the  market,  because 
payable  in  gold  only,  to  make  greater  gains  than  were  possi- 
ble from  lending  their  own  notes  at  three  per  cent,  interest. 


64  A   MINORITY   REPORT   ON   THE   SILVER   QUESTION. 

Though  the  act  of  January  14,  1875,  repealed  all  limits  to  the 
increase  of  national-bank  circulation,  and  thereby  invited  a 
further  inflation  of  the  currency,  it  appears  from  the  last  re- 
port of  the  Comptroller  of  the  Currency,  that  the  total  decrease 
of  legal-tender  notes  and  national  bank  notes  between  January 
14,  1875,  and  November  1,  1876,  has  been  over  forty-five  mill- 
ions of  dollars.  And  this  process  of  diminution  is  still  going 
on,  the  amount  of  legal-tender  notes  on  deposit  with  the  Treas- 
urer, for  the  purpose  of  still  further  retiring  bank-notes,  being, 
on  November  1,  1876,  nearly  twenty-one  millions,  so  that  the 
aggregate  amount  of  paper  money  voluntarily  withdrawn  from 
circulation,  in  less  than  twenty-two  months,  has  been  about 
sixty-six  millions,  or  nine  per  cent,  of  the  whole  quantity  in 
use. 

And  what  has  been  the  consequence  of  this  spontaneous  con- 
traction of  the  paper  currency  ?  The  paralysis  of  credit  and  in- 
dustry is  passing  away,  and  commerce  to  a  marked  degree  has 
begun  to  revive.  A  very  favorable  balance  of  trade  has  reduced 
the  rates  of  exchange  on  England  considerably  below  par,  and 
gold  has  constantly  flowed  into  the  country  to  an  unprecedented 
extent.  According  to  the  estimates  of  the  Director  of  the  Mint, 
the  amount  of  coin  and  bullion  in  the  United  States  on  June 
30, 1876,  was  over  one  hundred  and  eighty-one  millions,  of  which 
about  thirty  millions  were  silver.  As  the  imports  of  gold  dur- 
ing the  autumn  of  1876  were  immense,  owing  to  the  favorable 
balance  of  trade,  and  as  the  mines  of  both  the  precious  metals 
during  the  same  period  were  very  productive,1  there  can  be 
no  doubt  that  the  quantity  of  the  precious  metals  in  the  coun- 
try on  January  1,  1877,  was  at  least  two  hundred  and  twenty 
millions.  In  the  opinion  of  the  undersigned,  that  sum  is  a 
sufficient  basis  on  which  specie  payments  could  be  maintained 
without  difficulty  or  disturbance,  even  if  resumption  should 
take  place  at  a  very  early  day.  For  the  effect  of  such  resump- 
tion would  be  to  rescue  this  specie  from  its  present  semi-latent 
state,  employed  only  in  foreign  trade  and  in  certain  limited 

1  According  to  Dr.  Linderman,  "  the  domestic  production  of  gold  and  silver 
during  the  fiscal  year  (ending  June  30,  1876)  was  about  eighty-five  and  one  fourth 
millions  dollars  ;  of  which  amount,  forty-six  and  three  fourths  millions  were  gold, 
and  thirty-eight  and  one  half  millions  silver." 


A   MINORITY    REPORT    ON    THE   SILVER   QUESTION.  65 

transactions  with  the  United  States  Treasury,  and  bring  it  once 
more  into  full  use  as  money  —  as  a  constituent  part  of  the  ac- 
tive circulation  of  the  country.  So  brought  back,  it  would  even 
more  than  fill  the  gap  caused  by  the  partial  withdrawal  of 
paper  currency,  and  in  this  way,  combined  with  its  effect  in 
still  further  restoring  confidence,  and  putting  more  heart  into 
trade  and  manufactures,  the  probable  immediate  effect  of  re- 
sumption would  be  to  raise  the  prices  of  commodities  generally, 
instead  of  depressing  them,  and  thus  actually  to  favor  the  in- 
debted states,  and  generally,  the  indebted  classes  of  the  people.1 
Turn  the  matter  as  we  may,  the  chief  cause  of  the  evils  un- 
der which,  for  three  years,  the  country  has  suffered,  has  been 
impaired  credit  and  the  want  of  trust  in  the  future.  It  has 
been  the  absence  of  any  fixed  standard  of  value,  and  the  un- 
certainty in  the  markets  caused  by  the  fear  lest  Congress 
should  again  inflate  the  paper  currency.  Who  were  the  great- 
est losers  by  this  deplorable  state  of  things  ?  Not  the  creditor 
class,  surely  ;  not  the  capitalists  ;  not  the  owners  of  unincum- 
bered  houses  and  lands,  and  government  gold-paying  stocks, 
and  fully  constructed  and  equipped  railroads,  which  are  still 
paying  dividends,  though  at  reduced  rates.  These  have  some- 
thing to  fall  back  upon  ;  their  incomes  are  diminished,  it  is 
true,  and  sometimes  cut  off  altogether  ;  but  they  can  still  sub- 
sist for  a  long  time,  even  on  their  dead  capital.  But  the  in- 
debted and  industrious  classes  have  no  shelter  behind  which 
they  can  retire  for  a  season.  They  are  exposed  at  once  to  the 
whole  violence  of  the  storm.  For  them,  the  inevitable  result  of 
the  withdrawal  of  credit,  the  consequent  embarrassment  of 
trade,  and  the  crippling  of  every  industrial  enterprise,  is  priva- 
tion of  employment,  hopeless  insolvency,  and  ultimate  ruin. 
No  persons  in  the  community  would  be  so  much  benefited  by 
the  restoration  of  a  fixed  standard  of  value  as  the  industrious  and 
dependent  classes.  For  them,  the  certainty  that  the  dollar  will 
be  worth  a  month  or  a  year  hence  precisely  what  it  is  worth  to- 
day means  regular  employment,  a  lixed  rate  of  wages,  a  stable 

1  This  anticipation  has  been  fully  verified  by  recent  events.  The  resumpt'  a 
of  specie  payments,  January  1,  1879,  instead  of  depressing  the  markets,  was  ac- 
companied and  followed  by  a  rapid  and  verv  considerable  enhancement  of  prices 
generally,  and  by  a  corresponding  revival  of  trade  and  manufactures. 


66  A  MINORITY   REPORT   ON   THE   SILVER  QUESTION. 

market,  moderate  but  certain  gains,  and  the  absence  of  all 
anxiety  for  the  future. 

The  South  and  West,  already  largely  indebted  to  the  East- 
ern and  Middle  States,  are  still  in  urgent  need  of  further  ad- 
vances of  capital  from  the  same  source,  in  order  to  develop  still 
more  their  unrivalled  opportunities,  their  boundless  stores  of 
latent  wealth.  The  paralysis  of  business  throughout  the  coun- 
try is  specially  detrimental  to  them,  as  they  have  no  reserves 
to  fall  back  upon,  no  stores  of  capital  already  amassed,  which 
they  can  afford  to  suffer  to  remain  idle  for  a  time,  till  the  re- 
turning tide  of  confidence  and  enterprise  shall  again  set  the 
wheels  of  industry  in  motion.  Nearly  all  their  current  gains 
from  improvements  already  completed  are  absorbed  in  paying 
the  interest  on  the  mortgages  and  bonds  which  represent  the 
advances  previously  made  to  them,  being  the  price  of  most  of 
the  prosperity  which  they  have  hitherto  enjoyed.  Many  of 
the  people  there  are  now  clamoring  for  more  inflation  of  the 
currency,  thinking  that  the  increase  in  the  number  of  paper 
dollars,  and  the  consequent  inevitable  depreciation  of  their 
value,  will  both  make  it  easier  for  them  to  pay  the  interest  on 
their  debts  already  contracted,  and  so  far  revive  speculative  en- 
terprise as  once  more  to  irrigate  their  fields  with  the  inflow  of 
capital  from  the  East.  But  even  a  child  might  see  that  these 
two  contemplated  results  are  incompatible  with  each  other. 
One  who  is  already  deeply  in  debt  cannot  pave  the  way  for 
obtaining  the  additional  loans  that  he  needs  by  announcing,  of 
his  own  accord,  that  he  is  in  a  state  of  spontaneous  and  chronic 
bankruptcy  ;  that  he  will  not,  at  the  utmost,  pay  more  than 
ninety-three  cents  on  the  dollar,  and  that  he  has  taken  steps  to 
make  sure  that  even  this  dividend  shall  rapidly  be  diminished, 
only  leaving  it  uncertain  whether  it  shall  early  or  late  be  re- 
duced to  nothing,  and  the  debt  consequently  be  repudiated  al- 
together. Capitalists  must  be  singularly  constituted  who  will 
graii t  fresh  loans  to  debtors  openly  announcing  such  conditions. 

There  is  a  grave  question,  indeed,  whether  the  national  honor 
is  not  even  now  tarnished  by  the  mere  fact  that  specie  payments 
j.ave  not  been  already  resumed.  By  the  act  of  March,  1869, 
entitled  "  An  act  to  strengthen  the  public  credit,"  the  faith  of 
the  United  States  was  "  solemnly  pledged  "  "  to  make  provi- 


A  MINORITY  REPORT   ON   THE   SILVER  QUESTION. 


67 


sion,  at  the  earliest  practical  period,  for  the  redemption  of  the 
United  States  notes  in  coin."  The  amount  of  legal-tender 
notes  outstanding  on  November  1,  1876,  was  $367,535,716. 
But  it  appears  from  the  following  table,  for  which  I  am  indebted 
to  the  kindness  of  the  Secretary  of  the  Treasury,  that,  after  dis- 
charging all  the  obligations  of  the  United  States  already  due 
which  are  payable  only  in  gold,  the  government  sold  at  public 
auction,  between  July  1,  1869,  and  September  30,  1876,  sur- 
plus gold  to  the  amount  of  $389,705,144.68,  on  which  it  re- 
ceived a  premium  of  $58,020,155.53.  In  view  of  the  fact  that 
the  surplus  gold  thus  disposed  of  exceeded  by  over  twenty-two 
millions  what  was  necessary  to  redeem  all  the  legal-tender 
notes  outstanding,  how  can  it  be  said  that  Congress  has  kept 
its  solemnly-pledged  word  that  it  would  redeem  those  notes 
"  at  the  earliest  practicable  period  ?"  The  paper  money  re- 
ceived from  that  sale  of  gold  was  not  needed  in  order  to  pro- 
vide for  the  other  necessary  expenditures  of  the  government ; 
for  it  appears  that,  during  the  period  in  question,  after  defray- 
ing all  the  ordinary  expenses,  the  Treasury  paid  off  public  debt 
not  yet  due  to  an  amount  exceeding  four  hundred  and  thirty- 
five  millions  of  dollars. 

Amount  of  surplus  gold  sold  by  the  United  States  Treasury  from  July  ],  1866,  to 
October  1,  1876,  with  the  premiums  received  thereon. 


Period. 

p  -3 

is 

g 
|| 

Average  rate 
per  cent,  of 
premium. 

From  July 
From  July 
From  July 
From  July 
From  July 
From  July 
From  July 
From  July 
From  July 
From  July 
From  July 

Tots 

1,1866, 
I,  1867, 
1,1868, 
1,1869, 
1,  1870, 
1,  1871, 
1,  1872, 
1,1673, 
1,  1874, 
1,  1875, 
1,  1876, 

dsi  

to  June  30, 
to  June  30, 
to  June  30, 
to  June  30, 
to  June  30, 
to  June  30, 
to  June  30, 
to  June  30, 
to  June  30, 
to  June  30, 
to  Septemb 

1867  
1868  
1869  

$38,337,928.78 
54,209,653.79 
32,013,258.45 
65,081,516.50 
72,423,042.03 
77,597,495.70 
76,993,246.54 
38,013,974.80 
33,401,526.42 
25,092,251.44 

$14,154,843.55 
21,934,986.54 
12,376,289.38 
15,294,137.37 
8,892,839.95 
9,412,637.65 
11,560,530.89 
5,037,665.22 
3,979,279.69 
3,723,545.80 
119,518.96 

37 
41 
39 
24 
11 
12 
15 
13 
12 
15 
11 

1870  

1871  
187">     . 

1873  

1874  

1875      

1876  

21-  30,  1876.. 

1,102,111.25 

514,265,985.70 

106,486,  275.001      21 

1  Also,  in  May  and  August,  1876,  there  was  a  further  sale  of  gold  received 
under  the  Geneva  award,  amounting  to  $8,374,714.78,  on  which  a  premium  was 
obtained  of  §1,014,222.85,  or  nearly  12  per  cent. 


68  A   MINORITY   REPORT   ON   THE    SILVER   QUESTION. 

Summing  up,  the  following  are  presented  as  the  conclusions 
of  this  Report :  — 

1.  The  great  changes  which  have  taken    place  during  the 
last  year  in  the  relative  value  of  the  two  precious  metals  are 
attributable  almost  entirely  to  fluctuations  in  the  market  price 
of  silver,  since  the  prices  of  commodities  generally,  reckoned 
in  gold,  have  been  comparatively  stable. 

2.  These  fluctuations  indicate  a  considerable  fall  in  the  value 
of  silver,  which  has  been  produced  by  three  causes  :    1.  By 
the  great  productiveness  of  the  silver  mines  in  the  Comstock 
lode,  which,  within  a  few  years,  have  doubled  the  average  an- 
nual product   of    that   metal   for  the  whole  world  ;    2.    By  a 
great  diminution,  within  the  last  five  years,  of  the  demand  for 
silver  to  be  exported  to  British  India  ;  3.  By  the  demonetiza- 
tion of  silver,  within  the  same  period,  by  Germany,  Denmark, 
Sweden,  and  Norway,  and  by  the  limit  put  upon  the  coinage  of 
it  by  Holland,  France,  and  the  other  states  of  the  Latin  Mone- 
tary Union. 

3.  These  fluctuations  prove  that  silver  has  become  entirely 
unfit  for  use  as  a  standard  of  value  ;  and  this  action  of  Germany 
and  other  European  states  shows  that  they  have  become  aware 
of  this  unfitness,  and  have  altered  their  systems  of  coinage  and 
legal  tender  accordingly. 

4.  The  question  whether  the  three  causes  here  alluded  to  have 
permanently  depreciated  the  value  of  silver  is  one  which  does 
not,  at  present,  admit  of  a  determinate  answer.  Vague  estimates 
and  uncertain  theories  afford  no  safe  grounds  for  legislation. 

5.  The  so-called  double  standard  is  an  illusion  and  an  im- 
possibility.    The  prolonged  attempts  made  both  by  France  and 
the  United  States  to  establish  such  a  standard  have  been  com- 
plete failures,  causing  much  confusion  and  inconvenience,  ne- 
cessitating frequent  changes  of  legislation,  and  resulting  only 
in  the  alternate  establishment  of  one  or  the  other  precious  metal 
as  the  sole  standard. 

6.  Silver  is  further  unfitted  to  be  the  principal  medium  of  ex- 
change, first,  through  its  considerable  weight  and  bulk  in  pro- 
portion to  its  value,  being  thus  inconvenient  for  use  in   large 
transactions  and  settling  international  balances  ;  and,  secondly, 
through  its  constant  liability  to  loss  by  abrasion  and  clipping, 


A    MINORITY   REPORT    ON   THE   SILVER   QUESTION.  69 

the  corresponding  loss  in  the  case  of  gold  being  so  small  as  to 
be  almost  imperceptible. 

7.  The  proper  place  for  silver  in  a  monetary  system  is  that 
of  a  subsidiary  or  token  currency,  which  is  considerably  over- 
valued by  law,  and  made  legal  tender  only  within  certain  limits. 
These  limits  being  indeterminate  except  by  general  considera- 
tions of  expediency,  there  is  no  valid  objection  to  so  far  widen- 
ing them  as  considerably  to  increase  the  amount  of  silver  now 
in  circulation,  paper  money  being  withdrawn  to  an  equivalent 
amount,  and  the  silver  coins  being  made  legal  tender  for  any 
sum  not  exceeding  twenty  dollars. 

8.  The  proposed  "  policy  of   continuing   legal-tender  notes 
concurrently  with  the  metallic  standards  "  would  be  in  the  high- 
est degree  inexpedient  and    unjust,  this  paper-money  system 
having  been  the  chief  cause  of  the  paralysis  of  trade  and  indus- 
try under  which  the  country  has  labored    for  the  last  three 
years,  and    Congress  having,  as  far  back    as  1869,   solemnly 
pledged  the  faith  of  the  country  for  the  resumption  of  specie 
payments  at  the  earliest  practicable  moment. 

9.  Circumstances  at  the  present  time  have  made  such  re- 
sumption both  practicable  and  easy  within  a  very  brief  period, 
the  paper  currency  having  spontaneously  contracted  itself  at 
the  average   rate  of    three  millions  a  month  during   the  last 
twenty-two  months. 

In  order  to  complete  this  very  desirable  result,  and  to  make 
our  monetary  system  conform  in  all  important  respects  to  that 
of  the  most  prosperous  and  best  ordered  commercial  countries 
of  Europe,  the  following  measures  are  respectfully  recommended 
for  adoption  by  Congress  :  — 

1.  That  dollars  be  coined  each  containing  345.6  grains  of 
pure  silver,  which  shall  be  legal  tender  for  any  sum  not  ex- 
ceeding twenty  dollars,  and  shall  be  issued  only  in  exchange 
for  paper  currency  below  the  denomination  of  five  dollars  ;  and 
the  one-dollar  and  two-dollar  notes  so  received  in  exchange 
shall  be  immediately  cancelled  and  destroyed.  These  silver 
dollars,  however,  shall  be  receivable  to  any  amount  in  payment 
of  any  dues  to  the  government,  except  for  duties  on  imports. 
After  January  1,  1878,  notes  below  the  denomination  of  five 
dollars  shall  not  be  paid  out  either  by  the  Treasury  or  the 
banks,  and  shall  not  be  legal  tender. 


70  A   MINORITY  REPORT   ON   THE   SILVER  QUESTION. 

2.  Gold  shall  in  future  be  coined  only  at  the  rate  of  22.6  grains 
of  pure  gold  to  the  dollar,  so  that  the  half  eagle,  or  five-dollar 
piece,  may  be  almost  the  exact  equivalent  of  one  pound  sterling ; 
and  the  gold  so  coined  shall  be  legal  tender  to  any  amount : 
Provided,  however,    That    all   debts  and    contracts    expressly 
made  payable  only  in  gold,  and  outstanding  on  the  date  of  this 
enactment,  shall  be  paid  and  discharged  only  by  dollars  each 
containing  23.22  grains  of  pure  gold,  or  by  their  equivalent. 

3.  Out  of  the  paper  currency  received  by  the  government 
in  the  collection  of  its  internal  revenue,  a  sum  not  exceeding 
three  millions  of  dollars  each  month  shall  not  be  reissued,  but 
shall  be  cancelled  and  destroyed  ;  and  any  deficit  which  may 
thereby  be  created  in  the  Treasury  shall  be  supplied  in  the 
manner  already  authorized  by  law,  namely,  by  the  sale  of  any 
of  the  United  States  bonds  which  the  Secretary  of  the  Treasury 
is  now  empowered  to  issue. 

All  of  which  is  respectfully  submitted  by 

FEAXCIS  BOWEN. 
I  concur  in  the  foregoing  report  of  Mr.  Bowen. 

R.  L.  GIBSOX. 


THE  PERPETUITY  OF  NATIONAL  DEBT. 

A    SUPPRESSED    CHAPTER    OF    POLITICAL   ECONOMY;     READ     BEFORE    THE    AMER- 
ICAN   ACADEMY    OF    ARTS    AND    SCIENCES    IN    MARCH,    1868. 

NATIONAL  debts,  though  they  are  now  wellnigh  universal, 
are  comparatively  modern  inventions.  They  were  invented  at 
about  the  same  time  in  France,  England,  and  Holland,  towards 
the  close  of  the  seventeenth  century.  Before  that  period,  in- 
deed, costly  wars  had  been  waged,  and  governments  had  not 
only  contracted  heavy  debts,  but  often  failed  to  pay  them. 
Sometimes  they  got  rid  of  them  by  the  dishonest  expedient 
formerly  called  "  raising  the  standard,"  though  we  designate 
it  by  the  more  appropriate  phrase  of  "  depreciating  the  cur- 
rency." Kings  and  governments  frequently  became  insolvent; 
but  their  obligations,  like  those  of  private  persons,  were  always 
regarded  as  strictly  personal,  and  as  finally  dissolved  by  the 
death  of  the  bankrupt  leaving  no  available  assets.  The  con- 
trivance of  funding  a  National  Debt  on  the  perpetual  annuity 
plan,  so  as  to  throw  the  burden  of  supporting  and  paying  it 
upon  posterity,  —  in  other  words,  of  making  debts  transmissi- 
ble by  inheritance,  like  a  house  or  farm,  — was  never  heard  of 
on  English  ground  before  the  Revolution  of  1688.  It  was  first 
hit  upon  during  those  costly  and  disastrous  wars  which  were 
brought  upon  Europe  by  the  ambition  of  Louis  XIV. 

Every  country  of  any  importance  on  the  continent  of  Europe 
has  now  a  large  National  Debt,  contracted  in  the  main,  like 
that  of  England,  to  meet  the  extraordinary  expenses  of  war. 
In  proportion  to  their  wealth  and  ability  to  pay  the  annual 
interest,  at  least  four  of  these  countries,  Austria,  France,  Italy, 
and  Holland,  are  more  deeply  in  debt  than  England.  Nearly 
all  of  these  debts,  like  the  English,  are  redeemable  at  par  at 
the  option  of  the  government ;  that  is,  they  are  funded  on  the 


72  THE  PERPETUITY  OF  NATIONAL  DEBT. 

perpetual  annuity  plan,  since  no  definite  time  is  fixed  for  such 
redemption.  In  one  sense,  therefore,  the  debt  is  merely  nomi- 
nal, since  no  person  has  a  right  to  demand  of  the  government, 
at  any  time,  the  payment  of  any  portion  of  the  principal.  The 
annual  interest  is  all  that  the  stockholder  is  entitled  to  ;  and 
this  right  is  inviolable.  The  state  did  not  borrow  his  money 
under  any  obligation  to  repay  it  at  a  fixed  day,  but  only  sold 
him  an  annuity,  which  is  a  perpetual  annuity,  unless  the  gov- 
ernment should  see  fit,  at  some  future  time,  to  exercise  the 
privilege,  which  it  has  reserved  to  itself,  of  redeeming  any  por- 
tion of  it  by  paying  off  at  par  the  stock  of  which  it  is  really 
the  interest.  The  operation  of  funding  properly  consists  in 
putting  a  National  Debt  into  this  form  of  a  perpetual  annuity, 
redeemable,  at  the  option  of  the  debtor,  at  a  certain  amount 
•which  is  fixed  upon,  and  is  called  the  par.  Of  course,  this 
amounts  to  a  perpetual  mortgage  upon  the  earnings  of  future 
generations  in  order  to  pay  the  debts  of  those  who  are  now 
living. 

This  "par"  is  not  necessarily  the  sum  which  the  govner- 
ment  received  at  the  time  of  contracting  the  debt,  but  is  gen- 
erally much  larger,  the  excess  often  being  fifty  or  sixty  per 
cent.  For  instance  :  the  government  sells  an  annuity  of  6500 
a  year.  If  it  chooses  to  create  a  five  per  cent,  stock  for  this 
purpose,  it  designates  810,000  as  the  par,  since  this  sum,  at 
five  per  cent,  will  yield  a  revenue  forever  of  §500  a  year.  If 
it  prefers  a  four  per  cent,  stock,  it  designates  $12,500  as  the 
par,  as  this  sum  also,  at  four  per  cent.,  will  produce  a  perpetual 
annuity  of  6500.  In  either  case,  it  sells  the  610,000  of  five 
per  cent,  stock,  or  the  612,500  of  four  per  cents,  or  the  perpet- 
ual annuity  of  6500, — it  matters  not  what  name  we  give  it, 
since  in  fact  they  all  amount  to  the  same  thing, — for  what- 
ever may  be  at  the  time  its  market  value,  —  very  likely,  for 
not  more  than  67,000  or  6<S,000.  But  if,  at  some  future  day, 
the  government  should  see  fit  to  pay  off  the  debt,  it  will  be 
obliged  to  pay  either  610,000  or  612,500,  according  as  it  has 
called  the  stock  five  per  cents  or  four  per  cents.  Hence  it  is, 
that  the  government  usually  pays  interest  on  a  much  larger 
sum  than  it  has  actually  received.  Thus,  the  English  debt,  of 
about  800  millions  sterling  at  three  per  cent.,  represents  only 


THE  PERPETUITY  OF  NATIONAL  DEBT.  73 

about  464  millions  actually  received  by  the  Treasury,  so  that 
the  government  is  in  truth  paying  over  five  and  one  half  per 
cent,  interest. 

The  first  meaning  of  the  phrase  "  funding  a  debt  "  was  dif- 
ferent, and  deserves  explanation,  as  it  shows  how  the  perpetual 
annuity  plan  originated.  Over  a  century  ago,  it  was  a  com- 
mon practice  in  France  and  other  countries,  when  the  govern- 
ment was  in  want  of  money  for  war  purposes,  to  "  farm  the  pub- 
lic revenues,"  as  it  was  called  ;  that  is,  in  return  for  a  large 
sum  of  money  received  in  advance,  to  make  over  to  the  public 
creditor,  for  a  given  period  of  years,  the  right  of  collecting 
some  tax  or  duty. for  his  own  benefit.  For  instance  :  suppose 
the  salt-tax,  or  the  duty  on  sugar,  to  yield  five  millions  annu- 
ally. The  government  might  then,  on  condition  of  receiving 
838,600,000  paid  immediately,  farm  or  let  out  to  the  persons 
advancing  this  sum  the  right  to  collect,  for  their  own  benefit, 
the  salt-tax  or  sugar-duty  for  ten  years ;  since  an  annuity  for 
ten  years  of  five  millions,  at  five  per  cent,  compound  interest, 
is  worth  about  thirty-eight  and  one  half  millions.  Of  course, 
the  "  Farmers  General,"  as  these  persons  were  called,  became 
very  unpopular,  as  they  had  their  own  officers  and  excisemen, 
who  collected  the  taxes  for  them  with  great  rigor ;  and  the 
odium  of  the  burdensome  taxes  was  thrown  upon  these  agents, 
many  of  whom  were  guillotined  during  the  French  Revolution 
of  1780.  The  transaction  was  really  a  sale  or  mortgage,  for  a 
limited  period,  of  certain  revenues  of  the  state,  rather  than  a 
loan.  It  was  perfectly  legitimate  ;  since  the  state  has  an  un- 
doubted right,  as  one  mode  of  raising  extraordinary  supplies, 
to  impose  additional  taxes,  and  then  to  anticipate  their  pro- 
ceeds by  selling  or  mortgaging  the  right  to  receive  them,  for 
a  given  number  of  years,  as  a  means  of  repaying  both  princi- 
pal and  interest  of  the  sums  advanced  on  their  security.  The 
revenues  thus  pledged,  or  actually  made  over,  were  called  the 
funds  on  which  payment  of  these  short  annuities  was  secured. 
This  was  the  original  meaning  of  the  phrase  "  funding  a  debt," 
which  we  have  retained,  though  the  practice  itself  has  become 
obsolete,  as  it  is  not  the  fashion  nowadays  to  guaranty  the 
payment  of  the  public  debt  in  any  other  way  than  by  an  im- 
plied and  indefinite  pledge  of  the  public  faith. 


74  THE   PERPETUITY   OF  NATIONAL  DEBT. 

This  custom  of  farming  the  public  revenues  obviously  led 
the  way  to  the  practice  of  selling  annuities  for  short,  fixed 
periods,  say  for  ten  or  twenty  years.  Then  life-annuities  were 
sold.  Afterwards,  Tontines  were  established,  which  are  life- 
annuities  paid  to  a  small  company  of  persons  in  the  manner  of 
a  lottery,  with  benefit  of  survivorship,  the  share  of  each  holder 
after  his  death  being  distributed  among  his  associates,  so  that 
the  last  survivor  receives  the  aggregate  amount  originally  paid 
each  year  to  the  whole  company,  and  only  at  his  death  is  the 
total  annuity  extinguished.  Then,  long  annuities,  for  ninety- 
nine  years  or  more,  were  granted,  —  a  step  which  soon  led  to 
the  present  plan  of  making  the  yearly  payments  perpetual. 

In  striking  contrast  with  the  history  of  the  growth  of  public 
debt  in  England  and  France,  we  have  the  financial  prosperity 
at  this  period,  and  even  to  a  much  later  day,  of  the  little  king- 
dom of  Prussia.  Aided  by  a  considerable  treasure  which  the 
avarice  of  his  father  and  his  own  administrative  talent  had  ac- 
cumulated, the  genius  of  Frederick  the  Great  met  all  the  exi- 
gencies, the  mingled  triumphs  and  disasters,  of  the  war  of  the 
Austrian  Succession  and  the  Seven  Years'  War,  without  con- 
tracting a  dollar  of  debt.  "  The  burdens  of  the  war  had  been 
terrible,  almost  insupportable  ;  but  no  arrear  was  left  to  em- 
barrass the  finances  in  time  of  peace." 

The  question  has  been  asked,  and  with  increasing  earnest- 
ness of  late  years, —  Why  have  any  National  Debt?  Why 
not  pay  as  we  go,  in  war  as  well  as  in  peace?  Certainly  not 
from  the  lack  of  ability.  We  might  have  done  so,  had  we 
seen  fit,  even  in  the  unparalleled  war  of  the  Great  Rebellion, 
the  most  sanguinary  and  the  most  expensive  of  all  that  are  re- 
corded in  modern  history.  It  was  not  thought  proper,  how- 
ever, that  the  surplus  earnings  of  the  whole  people  for  four  or 
five  years  should  be  thus  contributed  to  war  purposes.  It  was 
deemed  best  that  most  of  them  should  continue  in  the  present 
enjoyment  of  the  fruits  of  their  industry,  on  condition  of  reim- 
bursing, with  interest,  out  of  their  future  earnings,  —  in  the 
way  of  stock  payable  in  three,  five,  ten,  or  twenty  years,  —  those 
owners  of  capital  (our  own  fellow-citizens,  be  it  remembered) 
from  whom  the  government  borrowed  enough  to  carry  on  and 
finish  the  conflict. 


THE   PERPETUITY   OF   NATIONAL   DEBT.  75 

The  doctrine  that  a  comparatively  small  immediate  sacrifice, 
through  the  payment  of  heavy  taxes  during  a  war,  might  pre- 
vent the  accumulation  of  a  mountain  of  debt  at  its  close,  has 
been  demonstrated  by  the  experience  of  the  British  govern- 
ment during  that  long  war  with  France,  which,  on  the  borrow- 
ing and  funding  system,  actually  added  six  hundred  millions 
sterling  to  the  National  Debt.  The  struggle  really  lasted  but 
twenty-one  years  ;  but  allowing  one  year  of  preparation  for  it, 
and  two  more  years  for  the  necessary  delay  in  coming  back  to 
a  peace  system,  the  whole  war  period  may  be  said  to  have  been 
twenty-four  years.  Putting  aside  the  payment  of  interest  on 
debt  contracted  during  the  war,  it  appears  that  the  total  ex- 
penditure of  the  country  exceeded  the  revenue  obtained  from 
taxation  only  during  the  first  twelve,  and  the  last  four,  years 
of  actual  conflict.  During  the  other  eight  years,  the  income 
would  have  exceeded  the  expenditure,  but  for  the  interest  on 
the  sums  borrowed  during  these  sixteen  years.  Deducting  the 
total  of  the  credit  excess  during  the  one  period  from  the  total 
of  the  debit  excess  during  the  other,  the  remainder  is  only  about 
one  hundred  and  fifty-one  millions  sterling.  In  other  words, 
the  total  expenditure  of  the  country  from  1793  to  1816,  both 
inclusive,  for  internal  government,  colonies,  the  war,  and  debt 
contracted  previously  to  1793,  was  only  one  hundred  and  fifty- 
one  millions  greater  than  the  revenue  actually  derived  from 
taxes  during  these  years.  Deducting  this  sum  from  six  hun- 
dred millions,  —  the  debt  actually  incurred,  —  we  have  four 
hundred  and  forty-nine  millions  as  the  debt  needlessly  incurred 
from  the  accumulations  of  interest,  from  a  vicious  funding  sys- 
tem, and  from  not  imposing  the  heavy  war  taxes  soon  enough. 

The  next  question  is,  Ought  measures  to  be  instituted  for 
paying  off  the  debt,  principal  and  interest,  as  soon  as  prac- 
ticable, or  should  it  be  allowed  to  continue  for  an  indefinite 
period  ?  The  English  government  have  adopted  the  latter  pol- 
icy, having  reduced  their  debt  but  little  for  half  a  century. 
It  is  neither  a  want  of  means,  nor  what  has  been  called  "  an 
ignorant  impatience  of  taxation,"  which  has  caused  this  delay. 
The  annual  sum  received  from  taxes  is  no  larger  now  than  it 
was  during  the  four  years  ending  in  1816,  though  the  popula- 
tion meanwhile  has  nearly  doubled,  and  the  national  wealth  is 


76  THE  PERPETUITY  OF  NATIONAL  DEBT. 

increased  at  least  fourfold.  That  the  people  would  bear,  with- 
out material  discontent,  a  considerable  increase  of  their  present 
burdens,  was  proved  by  recent  experience  in  the  Crimean  War. 
The  debt  is  allowed  to  continue,  from  the  belief  that  it  gives 

7  O 

firmness  and  stability  to  the  government ;  nearly  the  whole 
property  of  the  country,  as  more  or  less  intimately  connected 
with  the  debt,  being  deeply  interested  in  its  support.  It  is  also 
a  powerful  dissuasive  from  any  future  war  ;  it  may  be  said  to 
have  placed  England  under  very  heavy  bonds  to  keep  the  peace. 
This  consideration  has  gained  ground  of  late  years,  being  the 
foundation  of  the  ultra  peace-policy  adopted  by  that  large  por- 
tion of  the  commercial  and  manufacturing  middle  classes,  who 
followed  the  lead  of  Mr.  Cobden  and  Mr.  Bright.  It  must  be 
confessed  that  there  are  two  sides  to  their  favorite  argument. 
A  large  National  Debt  may  restrain  the  country  from  going  to 
war,  even  when  the  national  honor  and  security  seem  to  advo- 
cate vigorous  measures. 

I  propose  now  to  offer  some  considerations  in  favor  of  con- 
tracting and  paying  a  National  Debt  only  in  the  form  of  short 
annuities,  not  exceeding  twenty-five  years  in  duration,  so  that 
the  whole  may  always  be  paid  off  within  the  lifetime  of  the 
generation  that  contracted  it.  This  plan,  I  shall  endeavor  to 
show,  offers  the  following  advantages  :  — 

1.  It  avoids  altogether  the  very  serious  objections  which  may 
be  made  to  the  alleged  right  of  any  society  or  body  politic  to 
bequeath  its  own  voluntarily  incurred  debts  to  the  generations 
which  are  to  come  after  it,  or  to  impose  any  pecuniary  obliga- 
tion upon  those  who  are  not  yet  in  existence,  and  are  therefore 
incapable  of  assuming  the  burden  by  their  own  consent. 

2.  It    materially  lessens  the  risk    of   future  repudiation   or 
bankruptcy,  and  thus  strengthens  the  public  credit,  thereby 
continually  increasing  the  facility  of  borrowing  at  lower  rates 
of  interest. 

3.  It  has  all  the  advantages  of  a  sinking  fund,  the  debt  be- 
ing thus  subjected  to  a  constant  and  uniform  process  of  liqui- 
dation, while  it  entirely  avoids  the  risk  to  which  a  sinking  fund, 
properly  so  called,  is  always  liable,  of  being  diverted,  under 
any  considerable  emergency,  from  its  original  purpose,  and  ap- 
plied to  the  state's  present  wants. 


THE   PERPETUITY    OF   NATIONAL   DEBT.  77 

4.  The  saving  in  the  rates  of  interest  effected  through  all 
these  advantages  will  be  so  considerable,  that  the  yearly  pay- 
ment on  the  short  annuity  probably  will  not  exceed,  and  may 
even  be  considerably  less  than,  the  corresponding  payment  on 
a    perpetual    annuity,  so  that  the    debt  will    be  entirely  dis- 
charged in  twenty-five  years  with  no  greater  effort  than  would 
otherwise  be  necessary  merely  to  pay  the  annual  interest  on  it 
forever. 

5.  It  will  materially  simplify  the  fiscal  transactions  of  the 
government,  principal  and  interest  being  fused  together  into 
one  sum  ;  while  the  annual  payments  on  each  separate  annuity, 
whether  of  large  or  small  amount,  being  made  divisible  in  the 
manner  of  coupons,  each  being  separately  negotiable  at  a  longer 
or  shorter  time  before  it  becomes  due,  the  market  will  be  con- 
stantly supplied  with  every  form  of  stock  convenient  for  in- 
vestment, according  to  the  various  wishes  and    necessities  of 
different  capitalists. 

Terminable  annuities  for  long  periods,  as  for  one  hundred 
years,  are  usually  found  not  to  be  desirable  forms  of  invest- 
ment ;  and  the  experience  of  the  British  government  proves 
that  there  is  no  considerable  demand  for  them.      Otherwise, 
funding  in  such  annuities  would  be  a  very  eligible  mode  of 
liquidating  public  debt  by  a  process  so  gradual  as  hardly  to  be 
perceived  ;  though,  from  the  length  of  the  term  employed,  it 
would  still  be  open  to  the  serious  objection  of  entailing  upon 
future  generations  a  burden  which  does  not  rightfully  belong 
to  them.     An  annuity  of  61,000  for  one  hundred  years,  sup- 
posing money  to  be  earning  four  per  cent.,  is  worth  -$24,500, 
while  a  perpetual  annuity  of  the  same  amount  is  worth  but 
$25,000  ;  in  other  words,  to  increase  the  annual  payment  less 
than  one  twelfth  of  one  per  cent,  would  be,  in  this  mode  of 
funding,  to  cancel  the  whole  debt  in  one  hundred  years,  instead 
of  allowing  it  to  continue  forever.      Hut  corporations  and  in- 
dividuals looking  out  for  permanent  investments  do  not  will- 
ingly pui-chase  into  a  constantly  diminishing  fund.     "Even  the 
subscribers  to  a  new   loan,  who  generally   mean  to   sell  their 
subscription  as   soon  as  possible,  invariably  prefer  a  perpetual 
annuity,"  redeemable  only  at  par,  at  the  option  of  the  debtor, 
"  to  an  irredeemable  annuity  for  a  long  term  of  years,  of  about 


78  THE  PERPETUITY  OF  NATIONAL  DEBT. 

equal  amount.  The  value  of  the  former  being  always  the  same, 
or  very  nearly  the  same,  it  makes  a  more  convenient  transfer- 
able stock  than  the  latter." 

It  might  seem  that  the  same  objection  would  apply,  and  even 
with  increased  force,  to  the  plan  of  funding  in  annuities  of  only 
twenty-five  years'  duration.  And  so  it  would,  if,  by  this  means, 
the  term  of  full  repayment  were  not  brought  within  the  ordi- 
nary limit  of  the  lender's  own  life,  so  that  he  might  himself 
reasonably  expect  to  see  both  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  the 
transaction  ;  and  if,  also,  the  recent  invention  of  coupons  did 
not  permit  the  distinct  annual  payments  on  any  one  annuity 
to  be  severed  from  each  other,  and  then  separately  bought  and 
sold.  In  this  way,  almost  every  conceivable  form  of  invest- 
ment, not  exceeding  a  quarter  of  a  century  in  duration,  might 
be  offered  in  the  stock  market,  to  suit  the  different  fancies  of 
purchasers. 

Any  one,  for  instance,  might  purchase  a  single  instalment  of 
an  annuity  of  large  amount,  say  $50,000,  to  be  paid  after  the 
lapse  of  twenty-five  years  ;  and  also  a  complete  annuity  of 
small  amount,  yielding  him  a  yearly  income  of  82,500  for  the 
same  period.  The  price  of  the  former,  considering  money  to 
be  worth  five  per  cent.,  would  be  about  $14,756 ;  that  of  the 
latter,  reckoning  in  the  same  manner,  about  $35,244.  The 
aggregate  of  these  two  sums  is  850,000,  showing,  of  course,  that 
the  result  for  the  purchaser  is  precisely  the  same  as  if  he  had 
invested  this  last  sum  in  perpetual  annuities  at  the  same  rate 
of  interest. 

Accordingly,  this  method  combines  every  possible  advantage 
of  both  systems.  The  lender  who  wishes  to  invest  on  the  old 
plan,  of  annual  payment  of  the  interest  only,  with  final  reim- 
bursement of  the  principal  in  one  sum,  can  do  so,  with  the  ben- 
efit superadded  of  the  constant  operation  of  a  sinking  fund,  one 
twenty-fifth  part  of  the  whole  debt  being  necessarily  liquidated 
every  year ;  lie  has  also  the  option,  if  he  prefers  the  other  sys- 
tem, of  waiving  the  annual  payments  of  interest,  and  of  allow- 
ing his  investment  steadily  to  accumulate  at  compound  interest, 
without  the  delay,  inconvenience,  and  hazard  of  making  an- 
nually fresh  investments  ;  or,  thirdly,  should  exceptional  cir- 
cumstances render  such  a  course  desirable,  he  may  sink  the 


THE  PERPETUITY  OF  NATIONAL  DEBT.  79 

whole  sum  in  a  terminable  annuity  for  any  period  not  exceed- 
ing twenty-five  years. 

Far  the  most  valuable,  and,  as  I  believe,  the  popular,  feature 
of  the  plan,  would  be  the  opportunity  which  it  would  afford 
of  making  investments  to  any  extent,  and  for  any  time  less 
than  twrenty-five  years,  in  the  form  of  steady  accumulation  at 
compound  interest.  I  know  not  whether  the  economical  or  the 
moral  advantages  of  this  mode  of  funding  would  be  the  greater. 
Nothing  could  more  effectually  stimulate  the  habit  of  frugality, 
the  effective  desire  of  accumulation,  and  the  consequent  rapid 
growth  of  capital,  than  to  keep  the  market  fully  supplied  with 
securities  of  undoubted  permanence  and  value,  the  holders  of 
which,  waiving  the  receipt  of  annual  interest,  would  find  the 
fruits  of  their  industry  and  economy  steadily  increasing  in 
geometrical  ratio,  without  trouble  or  watchfulness  on  their 
part,  in  full  proportion  to  the  time,  and  for  such  time  only,  as 
that  during  which  they  originally  proposed  to  keep  them,  yet 
capable  of  use  as  a  pledge  for  obtaining  loans,  or  of  immediate 
negotiation  and  sale,  should  a  change  of  circumstances  or  plan 
make  such  realization  desirable.  Individuals  and  corporations 
having  frequently  considerable  sums  to  invest  for  a  few  years, 
with  a  view  only  to  safety  and  constant  accumulation  during 
this  period,  and  desirous  of  allowing  as  little  of  their  capital  to 
remain  unemployed  as  possible,  but  at  the  same  time  not  to 
place  it  entirely  out  of  reach  even  for  a  day,  would  find  in  the 
opportunity  of  purchasing  into  such  stock  the  perfect  fulfilment 
of  their  wishes.  Moreover,  as  the  peculiar  advantages  of  in- 
vestments at  compound  interest  can  be  reaped  to  the  full  ex- 
tent only  by  those  who  retain  them  unchanged  for  a  considera- 
ble length  of  time,  such  securities  would,  in  proportion  to  their 
amount,  be  less  frequently  offered  for  sale  or  bought  for  short 
periods,  and  therefore  would  afford  less  stimulus  and  nutriment 
to  the  blind  passion  fur  speculation  and  reckless  adventure, 
which  has  too  closely  assimilated  our  stock  markets  to  the 
great  gambling-hells  which  are  often  appropriately  placed  close 
beside  them.  We  have  had,  during  our  recent  civil  war,  ex- 
emplification of  this  truth  in  the  fact,  that  Treasury  notes  at 
compound  interest,  though  issued  to  the  amount  of  nearly  two 
hundred  and  twenty  millions,  and  expressly  made  legal  ten- 


80  THE  PERPETUITY  OF  NATIONAL  DEBT. 

ders,  like  ordinary  money,  soon  disappeared  almost  entirely 
from  circulation,  and  were  held  as  the  most  permanent  por- 
tion of  their  reserves  by  banks  and  large  capitalists. 

In  truth,  the  creation  of  this  form  of  stock  would  answer 
nearly  all  the  purposes,  and  afford  even  more  than  the  ordinary 
advantages,  of  Savings'  Banks,  Life  Insurance  offices,  and  other 
Trust  companies,  besides  offering  the  most  eligible  investments 
for  the  reserve  funds  of  these  institutions.  The  rapid  growth 
of  these  establishments,  and  the  prodigious  extent  of  the  field 
already  covered  by  their  operations,  indicate  the  commonness 
of  the  desire,  among  the  industrious  and  the  frugal  in  our  com- 
munity, to  invest  their  savings  for  accumulation  at  compound 
interest.  To  satisfy  this  desire  is  the  peculiar  work  which 
such  institutions  have  to  do ;  but  their  ordinary  expenses  are 
considerable,  their  operations  are  impeded  by  rivalry  with  each 
other,  investments  once  made  in  them  for  a  fixed  period  cannot 
be  withdrawn  without  loss,  and  the  security  which  they  afford 
is  not  always  unquestionable.  In  each  of  these  respects,  in- 
vestment in  them  would  be  less  desirable  than  in  United  States 
stock  accumulating  in  the  same  manner,  and  with  the  certainty 
of  an  equal,  or  even  higher,  rate  of  interest.  In  transactions 
which  may  continue  for  a  quarter  or  half  of  a  century,  no  pru- 
dent company  can  bind  itself  to  pay  a  higher  rate  than  four 
per  cent.  ;  the  government  would  pay  four  and  a  half  or  five 
per  cent.  What  is  called  an  "  Endowment  policy,"  the  cove- 
nant being  to  repay  the  advances  at  a  fixed  period,  though  the 
life  may  not  have  terminated,  has  become  a  favorite  form  of 
insurance,  the  main  purpose  evidently  being  to  invest  savings 
at  compound  interest  for  some  years,  and  only  a  secondary 
one  to  make  provision  for  others  in  view  of  the  uncertainty  of 
life.  An  easier,  more  profitable,  and  perhaps  a  safer,  mode 
of  accomplishing  this  chief  object,  would  be  to  purchase,  at 
its  present  value,  some  future  instalment  of  a  government  an- 
nuity. 

But  the  expediency  of  the  proposed  system,  as  it  seems  to 
me,  does  not  depend  on  the  mere  question  of  immediate  pecu- 
niary loss  or  gain,  but  on  far  graver  considerations  regarding 
the  preservation  of  the  public  faith,  and  the  evils  resulting 
from  the  perpetuity  of  a  great  National  Debt.  On  the  whole, 


THE   PERPETUITY    OF   NATIONAL   DEBT.  81 

there  are  the  same  motives  for  a  government,  as  for  an  individ- 
ual, to  endeavor  to  get  rid  of  debt.  In  itself  considered,  debt 
is  both  a  discredit  and  an  incumbrance.  It  detracts  from  the 
weight  and  influence  of  the  nation  in  its  relations  with  foreign 
powers,  and  nourishes  discontent  at  home,  through  the  long- 
continued  pressure  of  taxation.  The  trouble  and  cost  of  its 
management  embarrass  the  administration,  and  tend  even  to 
corrupt  and  degrade  it,  through  the  large  increase  of  its  finan- 
cial concerns.  If  heavily  in  debt,  a  country  is  able  to  meet  the 
exigencies  of  war  only  with  its  right  arm  in  a  sling.  One  rea- 
son why  the  American  people  passed  comparatively  unharmed 
through  the  fiery  trial  to  which  they  were  recently  subjected 
was,  that  they  were  not  burdened  with  an  oppressive  debt  at 
the  outset.  With  the  great  load  which  they  are  now  carry- 
ing, the  recurrence  of  a  calamity  similar  in  kind,  though  not 
equal  in  extent,  would  lead  inevitably  to  a  breach  of  national 
faith  and  a  long  train  of  financial  disasters. 

The  payment  of  the  interest  alone,  at  six  per  cent.,  in  little 
over  sixteen  years,  requires  the  receipt  and  disbursement  of 
as  large  a  sum  as  the  principal.  Especially  in  a  republican 
government,  where  the  virtues  of  simplicity,  purity,  and  fru- 
gality are  of  high  account,  being  indissolubly  linked  with  the 
preservation  of  the  state,  it  is  of  the  utmost  importance  to  re- 
strict the  sphere  of  the  national  finances,  and  to  avert  even  the 
suspicion  of  corruption  and  fraud.  The  period  of  the  South 
Sea  Bubble  in  England,  and  of  Law's  Mississippi  scheme  in 
France,  about  1715,  was  one  not  merely  of  pecuniary  ruin,  but 
of  degradation  and  shame,  both  in  the  councils  of  the  state  and 
in  private  life ;  of  almost  universal  forfeiture  of  reputation  and 
self-respect,  and  a  permanent  deterioration  of  the  national 
character.  The  origin  and  the  characteristic  feature  of  both 
these  calamitous  series  of  events  was  gambling  in  the  public 
stocks,  incited  by  the  then  recent  institution  of  a  permanent 
National  Debt.  The  gigantic  scale  on  which  our  national 
finances  have  been  conducted  for  the  last  twenty  yeai's  appears 
to  have  exerted  an  equally  disastrous  influence  on  the  tone  of 
domestic  politics,  the  morals  of  commerce,  and  the  reputations 
of  those,  who  have  gathered  enormous  wealth  out  of  the  perils 
and  losses  of  the  state.  It  would  be  sad  to  believe  that  the 
6 


82  THE  PERPETUITY  OF  NATIONAL  DEBT. 

burden  which  brings  with  it  such  consequences  is  fastened 
upon  us  forever. 

The  reason  commonly  alleged  to  justify  a  nation  in  con- 
tracting a  great  debt,  and  postponing  indefinitely  the  time  of 
its  payment,  is,  that  future  generations,  as  they  reap  the  bene- 
fits and  share  the  security  which  have  been  obtained  by  the 
conflict,  may  also  bear  their  share  of  its  burdens  and  cost.  We 
have  triumphed,  not  only  for  ourselves,  but  for  posterity ;  then 
let  posterity  help  to  pay  the  bill.  But  this  argument,  fre- 
quently repeated  as  it  is,  is  a  misconception  and  a  blunder. 
What  possible  difference  does  it  make  to  my  heirs,  whether  I 
leave  them  an  estate  worth  $50,000  burdened  with  a  debt  of 
$10,000,  or  an  unincumbered  property  worth  $40,000  ?  In 
either  case,  whether  the  debt  is  paid  off  or  not,  posterity  must 
bear  their  full  share  of  it,  either  by  receiving  their  whole  in- 
heritance thus  incumbered,  or  by  receiving  a  free  estate  which 
has  been  cut  down  in  size  in  order  to  pay  off  the  incumbrance. 
In  fact,  the  property  has  been  actually  expended  and  destroyed 
in  carrying  on  the  war ;  the  powder  has  been  fired  off,  the 
shells  bursted,  the  fortifications  destroyed,  the  ships  and 
houses  burned,  the  men  killed.  As  the  population  of  the  coun- 
try can  never  be  so  large  as  it  would  have  been,  had  not  these 
lives  been  sacrificed  ;  so  its  wealth  can  never  be  so  great  as  it 
would  have  been,  had  not  this  amount  of  property  been  de- 
stroyed. 

Besides,  we  are  not  sure  what  view  future  generations  will 
take  of  the  expediency  and  justifiableness  of  the  war.  If  the 
opinion  of  Englishmen  of  the  present  day  could  be  taken,  I 
doubt  whether  a  vast  majority  of  them  would  not  declare,  that 
the  whole  war  against  the  French  Revolution  and  the  first 
Napoleon,  extending  from  1793  to  1815,  was  a  blunder  and  a 
crime.  Of  what  use  was  it  to  defeat  Napoleon  the  Great,  and 
banish  him  to  St.  Helena,  at  the  cost  of  a  million  or  two  of 
lives  and  six  hundred  millions  sterling  of  debt,  when  they 
coolly  allowed  Napoleon  the  Little,  with  a  much  inferior  title 
and  character,  to  take  his  uncle's  place  on  the  throne,  and  even 
entered  into  an  entente  cordutle  with  him  to  insure  his  posses- 
sion of  it?  Take  another  example.  Probable  every  sane  man 
in  England,  acquainted  with  the  facts,  would  now  frankly  con- 


THE  PERPETUITY  OF  NATIONAL  DEBT.  83 

fess,  that  the  war  of  the  American  Revolution,  on  the  part  of 
his  ancestors,  was  unjustifiable  and  inexpedient  from  begin- 
ning to  end.  Yet  this  war  added  one  hundred  and  twenty 
millions  sterling  to  the  English  National  Debt ;  and  as  the 
joint  result  of  these  two  wars,  all  the  laboring  men  in  Great 
Britain  (four  fifths  of  the  whole  population,  be  it  remem- 
bered), who  inherited  nothing  from  their  ancestors  but  the  right 
to  work  and  to  be  taxed,  are  now  held  to  pay  more  than  twice 
its  natural  price  for  every  mug  of  beer,  and  every  cup  of  tea  or 
coffee,  which  they  drink  ;  till  recently,  and  through  a  long 
series  of  years,  they  were  heavily  taxed  on  every  loaf  of  bread 
which  they  ate.  I  do  wrong  to  say  that  they  inherited  nothing. 
They  inherited  a  country  so  enfeebled  and  disheartened  by 
the  National  Debt  entailed  upon  it  by  these  two  insensate  and 
unrighteous  conflicts,  that  it  does  not  venture  now  to  go  to  war, 
even  in  a  just  cause,  with  any  power  on  the  European  conti- 
nent. 

We  may  not  fear  the  judgment  of  posterity  about  the  recent 
war  of  the  Rebellion ;  for  the  abolition  of  slavery  alone,  which 
it  has  brought  about,  is  a  great  good  and  a  possession  forever, 
not  for  this  country  only,  but  for  the  civilized  world.  And  yet, 
if  the  question  should  be  asked,  fifty  or  sixty  years  hence,  why, 
without  going  to  war  and  destroying  half  a  million  of  lives,  we 
did  not  peacefully  purchase  the  liberty  of  every  slave  on  the 
continent,  and  furnish  him  also  with  a  lot  of  ground  large 
enough  to  support  himself  and  family,  —  a  measure  for  which 
the  four  thousand  millions  spent  by  the  North  alone  on  the  war 
would  have  been  more  than  sufficient,  —  if  this  question,  I  say, 
should  be  then  asked,  perhaps  it  is  well  that  posterity,  and  not 
the  men  of  this  generation,  will  have  to  answer  it.  Turn  the 
matter  as  we  may,  war  is  both  a  great  evil  and  a  great  sin. 
"From  whence,"  asks  the  Apostle, — "from  whence  come 
wars  and  fighting  among  you  ?  Come  they  not  hence,  even  of 
your  lusts  that  war  in  your  members  ?  "  But  for  the  feelings 
of  bitter  hostility  between  North  and  South,  nursed  by  the 
arts  of  ambitious  and  reckless  politicians,  slavery  might  have 
been  bought  out,  instead  of  being  fought  out,  of.  existence,  with- 
out bringing  death  into  almost  every  family  in  the  land,  and 
shaking  the  civilized  world  as  with  an  earthquake.  Distribute 


84  THE  PERPETUITY  OF  NATIONAL  DEBT. 

the  guilt  as  we  may  between  the  two  parties  to  the  conflict,  — 
of  course,  the  victors  believe  the  South  were  ten  times  as 
guilty  as  they  were,  —  still  there  was  guilt  and  shame  on  both 
sides  in  bringing  about  hostilities.  With  this  view  of  the 
case,  —  a  view  not  improbable  to  be  taken  half  a  century  hence, 
though  it  may  be  unpalatable  now,  —  we  can  imagine  posterity 
turning  a  deaf  ear  to  our  entreaties  that  they  should  help  us  in 
paying  the  bill  for  the  fight. 

But  there  is  a  graver  argument  against  allowing  an  indefi- 
nite, or  even  a  long,  continuance  of  the  pecuniary  obligations 
contracted  during  a  war.  A  funded  National  Debt  is  a  mort- 
gage upon  the  labor  of  posterity ;  for  it  is  out  of  the  fruits  of 
the  national  labor  alone  that  the  annual  interest,  or  any  por- 
tion of  the  principal,  can  be  paid.  But  to  mortgage  the  right 
of  our  descendants  to  enjoy  the  fruits  of  their  own  industry  is 
a  violation,  not  only  of  all  natural,  but  of  all  municipal  law. 
No  code  on  earth  authorizes  me  to  bind  my  son  or  grandson 
to  pay  my  debts,  except  to  the  extent  to  which  I  leave  him 
property  wherewith  to  make  such  payment.  Granted,  if  you 
will  (though  grave  reasons  will  soon  be  offered  for  refusing 
even  this  concession),  that  a  portion  —  comparatively  a  small 
portion  —  will  inherit  from  us  houses  and  lands  and  personal 
property  ;  and  that  they  may  rightly  be  held  to  pay,  to  the  ex- 
tent of  the  wealth  thus  inherited.  Still  you  have  no  right  to 
mortgage  the  labor  of  those  —  vastly  more  than  a  majority  of 
the  whole  number  —  who  inherit  nothing  but  a  stout  pair  of 
arms  and  a  cunning  brain.  On  what  grounds  can  we  bind 
these  men  of  the  future  to  pay  our  debts,  seeing  that  they 
were  not  born  when  those  debts  were  contracted,  and  have  in- 
herited nothing  from  those  by  whose  prodigality,  vindictive- 
ness,  sloth,  and  sin  these  debts  have  been  accumulated  ?  And 
what  will  your  mortgage  on  the  future  amount  to,  if  these  men 
and  their  descendants,  and  all  the  wealth  which  they  and 
theirs  have  since  amassed  by  their  own  honest  industry,  are 
exempted  from  it  ?  Family  property  in  this  country  does  not 
last  long;  wealth  is  here  found  chiefly  in  the  hands  of  those 
who  have  earned  it  —  have,  in  fact,  created  it  —  by  their  own 
exertions.  Pass  a  period  of  forty  or  fifty  years  only,  and  far 
the  greater  part  of  the  property  in  the  country  will  be  found 


THE  PERPETUITY  OF  NATIONAL  DEBT.  85 

to  be  owned  by  those  on  whom  there  rests  not  the  shadow  of 
an  obligation  to  pay  our  debts. 

This  doctrine  is  so  far  from  being  novel,  that,  till  within 
two  hundred  years,  it  was  admitted  by  all  nations,  and  was 
incorporated  into  all  their  codes  of  law.  Debts  were  univer- 
sally regarded  as  strictly  personal,  or  incapable  of  transmis- 
sion by  inheritance.  A  promise  to  pay  could  bind  nobody  but 
him  who  voluntarily  made  the  promise,  and  had  received  and 
consumed  the  equivalent  for  which  he  made  it.  Towards  the 
close  of  the  seventeenth  century,  it  suited  the  policy,  or  rather 
the  war-passion,  of  the  governing  classes  in  France  and  Eng- 
land to  invent  the  theory  and  practice  of  a  perpetual  debt.1 
And  there  was  a  certain  consistency  in  such  conduct  on  their 
part ;  since  they  held  that  their  government,  as  then  consti- 
tuted, existed  by  divine  right,  so  that  political  authority  and 
obligation  were  transmissible  by  descent  to  future  generations. 
But  the  first  principle  of  our  republican  institutions  is,  that 
there  is  no  such  political  inheritance,  but  that  each  generation 
has  an  inalienable  right  to  alter  its  whole  frame  of  govern- 
ment, so  as  to  adapt  it  to  their  present  wants  and  desires.  We 
cannot  bind  posterity,  then,  either  by  our  political  acts,  or  by 
the  pecuniary  obligations  that  are  based  upon  such  political 
action,  any  more  than  the  superstructure  can  be  preserved 
after  the  foundations  have  been  dug  away.  And  we  cannot 
incumber  what  we  have  no  power  to  alienate;  a  tenant  for 
life  only  cannot  mortgage  the  estate  except  during  the  period 
of  his  tenancy.  The  whole  earth,  with  everything  upon  it, 
descends  by  necessary  and  perpetual  entail  to  the  generations 
which  are  to  come  after  us  ;  and  no  act  of  ours  can  impair  the 
entirety  of  their  ownership,  restrict  the  scope  of  their  industry, 

1  Speaking  of  William  Pitt,  Professor  Goldwin  Smith  observes :  "  He  ought  to 
have  felt  more  strongly  the  injustice  of  laying  burdens  on  other  generations 
without  their  own  consent.  In  barbarous  ages,  when  people  went  to  war, 
they  fought  for  themselves.  Civilization  taught  them  to  hire,  impress,  or  kidnap 
other  people  to  fight  for  them.  Still  there  was  a  check  on  war  while  those  who 
made  it  had  to  pav.  Taxation  of  the  present  was  confined  within  narrow  limits; 
it  provoked  unpleasant  outcries,  sometimes  it  provoked  resistance.  So  the  expe- 
dient was  hit  upon  of  taxing  the  mute  and  unresisting  future.  The  system  was 
perfected  by  degrees.  At  tirst,  the  government  only  anticipated  payments  which 
they  might,  with  some  color  of  reason,  call  their  own.  Then  they  mortgaged 
particular  sources  of  revenue.  Funding  with  us  dates  from  William  III." 


86  THE  PERPETUITY  OF  NATIONAL  DEBT. 

or  deprive  them  of  any  portion  of  its  fruits.  Since  we  cannot 
disinherit  them,  neither  can  we  burden  their  inheritance.  The 
opposite  doctrine  would  have  this  absurd  consequence,  that  it 
would  enable  us  to  enslave  posterity  altogether ;  for  if  an  in- 
herited obligation  can  take  away  a  part,  it  can  alienate  the 
whole,  both  of  their  political  freedom  and  the  fruits  of  their 
personal  industry.  The  theory  of  a  perpetual  debt  affixes  no 
limitation  to  its  amount ;  if  the  burden  can  be  transmitted  at 
all,  it  can  be  made  heavy  enough  to  deprive  future  labor  of 
the  whole  of  its  reward. 

This  is  not  only  the  true  republican  doctrine  ;  we  have  a 
right  to  call  it  also  the  established  American  policy.  The 
United  States,  hitherto,  have  always  paid  off  their  war  debt 
within  the  lifetime  of  those  who  fought.  The  Revolutionary 
Debt  was,  in  fact,  fully  discharged  at  least  as  early  as  1817  ; 
for  the  National  Debt  still  existing  in  that  year  ought  to  be 
considered  as  resulting  from  the  purchase  of  Louisiana  in 
1803,  and  from  the  war  of  1812.  This  last  debt  was  still 
more  rapidly  extinguished,  for  no  portion  of  it  remained  un- 
paid in  1835.  The  country  was  then  entirely  free  from  debt, 
and  found  itself  even  incumbered  with  a  surplus  income. 
Thus  far,  also,  we  have  been  paying  off  the  enormous  debt 
contracted  during  the  Great  Rebellion  at  a  rate  which,  if  con- 
tinued, would  insure  its  extinction  in  less  than  one  generation. 
In  July,  1866,  it  exceeded  2,783  millions  ;  in  February,  1870, 
it  was  less  than  2,445  millions,  thus  showing  an  average  annual 
diminution  of  about  ninety-six  millions.  During  the  next  ten 
years,  the  annual  reduction  was  only  about  half  as  great,  since 
the  amount  of  the  debt,  in  February,  1880,  was  about  2,000 
millions.  Still,  with  the  aid  of  the  Sinking  Fund,  which  is  now 
established  by  law,  the  whole  remainder  will  be  extinguished 
in  about  thirty  years  from  this  time.  It  must  be  remembered, 
also,  that  no  portion  of  this  debt  contracted  during  our  great 
civil  war  was  ever  funded  on  the  perpetual-annuity  plan.  All 
the  loans  were  originally  contracted  either  for  short  fixed 
periods,  such  as  three  or  five  years,  or  were  the  so-called  "  Five- 
Twenties,"  or  "  Ten-Forties  "  ;  that  is,  the  periods  of  the  loan 
were  not  less  than  five,  or  more  than  twenty  years  ;  or  not 
less  than  ten,  or  more  than  forty  years.  It  is  evident,  then, 


THE  PERPETUITY  OF  NATIONAL  DEBT.  87 

that  the  established  American  plan  of  finance,  unlike  the  Eu- 
ropean perpetual-annuity  plan,  requires  the  whole  of  a  war 
debt  to  be  paid  off  during  the  lifetime  of  the  generation  which 
contracted  it. 

The  argument  in  favor  of  the  American  plan  is  forcibly 
stated  by  Mr.  Jefferson,  in  a  letter  written  about  four  years 
after  the  close  of  his  presidency.  "  It  is  a  wise  rule,"  he  says, 
"  and  should  be  fundamental  in  a  government  disposed  to 
cherish  its  credit,  and  at  the  same  time  to  restrain  the  use  of 
it  within  the  limits  of  its  faculties,  never  to  borrow  a  dollar 
without  laying  a  tax  in  the  same  instant  for  paying  the  inter- 
est annually,  and  the  principal  within  a  given  term  ;  and  to 
consider  that  tax  as  pledged  to  the  creditors  on  the  public 
faith.  On  such  a  pledge  as  this,  sacredly  observed,  a  govern- 
ment may  always  command,  on  a  reasonable  interest,  all  the 
lendable  money  of  its  citizens.  But  the  term  of  redemption 
must  be  moderate,  and  at  any  rate  within  the  limit  of  its 
rightful  powers.  But  what  is  that  limit  ?  What  is  to  hinder 
them  from  creating  a  perpetual  debt?  I  answer,  the  laivs  of 
nature.  The  earth  belongs  to  the  living,  not  to  the  dead. 
The  will  and  power  of  man  expire  with  his  life  by  nature's 
law.  The  generations  of  men  may  be  considered  as  bodies  or 
corporations.  Each  generation  has  the  usufruct  [the  life  use 
and  enjoyment]  of  the  earth  during  the  period  of  its  continu- 
ance. When  it  ceases  to  exist,  that  usufruct  passes  on  to  the 
next  generation  free  and  unincumbered  ;  and  so  on,  from  one 
generation  to  another,  forever.  We  may  consider  each  gener- 
ation as  a  distinct  nation,  with  a  right  by  the  will  of  a  major- 
ity to  bind  themselves,  but  none  to  bind  the  succeeding  gener- 
ations, any  more  than  to  bind  the  inhabitants  of  another 
country.  Or  the  case  may  be  likened  to  the  ordinary  one  of  a 
tenant  for  life,  who  may  hypothecate  the  land  for  his  debts  dur- 
ing the  continuance  of  his  usufruct ;  but  at  his  death,  the  rever- 
sioner,  who  also  is  for  life  only,  receives  it  exonerated  from  all 
burdens." 

As,  then,  the  mere  surface  of  the  earth,  which  alone,  among 
all  human  possessions,  is  permanent  and  not  subject  to  de- 
cay, necessarily  descends  free  and  unincumbered  to  subsequent 
generations,  so,  for  a  still  stronger  reason,  all  movable  articles 


88  THE  PERPETUITY  OF  NATIONAL  DEBT. 

of  value,  which,  in  addition  to  the  land,  constitute  the  whole 
wealth  of  the  community,  and  which  are  not  permanent,  but 
decay  or  are  consumed  within  the  lifetime  of  those  by  whose 
labor  they  were  created,  belong  exclusively  to  the  living.  The 
dead  have  no  control  over  them,  and  no  right  of  ownership  in 
them,  because  they  contributed  nothing  to  the  industry  by 
which  these  things  received  their  valuable  qualities,  or  became 
articles  of  wealth.  It  is  now  universally  admitted  as  one  of 
the  first  principles  of  Political  Economy,  that  wealth  must  be 
perpetually  renewed,  or  it  is  quickly  used  up  and  disappears. 
The  stock  of  national  wealth  may  be  compared  to  the  flesh, 
blood,  and  bones  of  a  man's  body,  which  are  in  a  state  of  con- 
stant flux  and  renovation,  being  entirely  renewed,  the  physiol- 
ogists say,  about  once  in  seven  years.  The  harvest  of  one  year 
is  mainly  consumed  before  that  of  the  next  year  is  reaped  ; 
certainly,  before  three  years  have  passed,  hardly  a  vestige  of 
it  remains.  All  our  domestic  animals  are  shorter  lived  than 
their  owners.  Even  the  tools  and  implements  of  husbandry 
are  worn  out  and  abandoned  in  much  less  time  than  a  genera- 
tion. The  fashion  and  the  fabric  of  all  manufactured  goods 
quickly  pass  away ;  our  clothes  wear  out,  furniture  is  spoiled 
or  thrust  away  as  obsolete  and  inconvenient ;  houses  become 
dilapidated,  or  are  kept  in  repair  at  an  annual  expense  which, 
in  thirty  years,  exceeds  their  first  cost  of  construction.  If  men 
did  not  labor  meanwhile  to  renovate  and  build  anew,  they 
would  soon  be  reduced  to  the  condition  of  savages,  even  if 
they  did  not  perish  altogether. 

Look  around  upon  the  material  wealth  of  Boston,  and  ask 
how  much  of  it  was  in  existence,  and  in  its  present  form,  in 
the  days  of  General  Jackson's  presidency.  The  railroad  wealth 
of  this  country,  now  computed  to  exceed  in  value  4,000  mil- 
lions of  dollars,  has  been  entirely  created  by  the  industry  of 
the  people  since  1835.  On  what  pretext,  then,  could  it  be 
held  that  this  property  would  be  liable  for  the  debts  of  men 
who  lived  before  1835,  especially  if  the  debts  were  contracted 
for  the  prosecution  of  a  war  now  generally  regarded  as  impol- 
itic and  unjust?  How  much  of  this  wealth  will  descend  un- 
impaired to  the  men  of  the  next  century?  Though  railroads 
and  canals  are  among  the  most  permanent  works  of  man,  the 


THE  PERPETUITY  OF  NATIONAL  DEBT.  89 

annual  cost  of  their  repairs  is  so  great,  that,  if  allowed  to  accu- 
mulate as  an  annuity  at  compound  interest,  before  1910,  the 
aggregate  would  doubtless  exceed  their  present  worth  ;  or,  if 
left  unrepaired,  long  before  that  time  they  would  become 
worthless. 

"Everything  which  is  produced,"  says  Mr.  John  S.  Mill, 
"  is  consumed  ;  both  what  is  saved  and  what  is  said  to  be 
spent ;  and  the  former  quite  as  rapidly  as  the  latter.  All  the 
ordinary  forms  of  language  tend  to  disguise  this.  When  men 
talk  of  the  ancient  wealth  of  a  country,  of  riches  inherited 
from  ancestors,  and  similar  expressions,  the  idea  suggested  is, 
that  the  riches  so  transmitted  were  produced  long  ago,  at  the 
time  when  they  are  said  to  have  been  first  acquired,  and  that 
no  portion  of  the  capital  of  the  country  was  produced  this 
year,  except  as  much  as  may  have  been  this  year  added  to  the 
total  amount.  The  fact  is  far  otherwise.  The  greater  part  in 
value  of  the  wealth  now  existing  in  England  has  been  pro- 
duced by  human  hands  within  the  last  twelve  months.  A 
very  small  proportion  indeed  of  that  large  aggregate  was  in 
existence  ten  years  ago  ;  of  the  present  productive  capital  of 
the  country  scarcely  any  part,  except  farm  houses  and  fac- 
tories, and  a  few  ships  and  machines  ;  and  even  these  would 
not,  in  most  cases,  have  survived  so  long, -if  fresh  labor  had 
not  been  employed  within  that  period  in  putting  them  into  re- 
pair. The  land  subsists,  and  the  land  is  almost  the  only  thing 
that  subsists.  Everything  which  is  produced  perishes,  and 
most  things  very  quickly."  If  there  are  a  few  works  of  art 
which  endure,  such  as  the  pyramids,  Westminster  Abbey, 
painting,  and  statues,  they  are  objects  devoted  to  unproduc- 
tive use  or  mere  enjoyment  ;  they  are  not  capital  designed  for 
the  creation  of  more  wealth.  Buildings  applied  to  industrial 
purposes  "  do  not  hold  out  against  wear  and  tear,  nor  is  it 
good  economy  to  construct  them  of  the  solidity  necessary  for 
permanency.  Capital  is  kept  in  existence  from  age  to  age,  not 
by  preservation,  but  by  perpetual  reproduction  ;  every  part  of 
it  is  used  and  destroyed,  generally  very  soon  after  it  is  pro- 
duced; but  those  who  consume  it  are  employed  meanwhile  in 
producing  more." 

I  say,  then,  that  no  generation  of  men  can  bequeath  debts 


90  THE  PERPETUITY  OF  NATIONAL  DEBT. 

to  its  successors,  because  it  leaves  them  no  property  wherewith 
to  pay  those  debts.  For  thirty-three  years,  the  supposed  life- 
time of  a  generation,  it  is  admitted  that  public  pecuniary  obli- 
gations continue  in  full  force  ;  after  that  period,  they  are  dis- 
solved and  finally  wiped  out  by  a  Statute  of  Limitations 
enacted  by  Nature,  in  accordance  with  the  first  principles  of 
justice  ;  because  all  the  wealth  of  the  country,  with  exceptions 
too  trifling  to  be  noticed,  will  then  be  in  the  hands  of  men  who 
have  created  it  by  their  own  labor,  and  who  were  not  parties 
to  the  contract  in  which  the  debts  originated,  and  did  not 
assent  to  the  war  which  rendered  those  debts  necessary.  No 
government  on  earth,  which  professes,  as  the  American  govern- 
ment does,  to  be  merely  an  expression  of  the  will  and  authority 
of  the  people  now  living  under  it,  has  a  shadow  of  a  right  to 
impose  political  or  pecuniary  burdens  upon,  or  to  pledge  the 
faith  of,  the  government  which  is  to  fill  its  place  more  than 
thirty  years  hence.  This  is  not  pleading  in  favor  of  the  re- 
pudiation of  debt,  than  which  no  greater  national  sin  is  con- 
ceivable, except  that  of  an  unjust  or  unnecessary  war  ;  but  it  is 
a  plea  in  favor  of  paying  the  debt  as  promptly  as  possible. 
The  guilt  and  the  odium  of  repudiation  should  be  thrown, 
where  they  rightfully  belong,  upon  the  men  of  the  present 
day,  if  they  do  not  pay  off  to  the  last  penny,  within  their  own 
lifetime,  the  debt  contracted  in  that  war  which  they  alone 
undertook,  and  in  which  they  alone  triumphed. 

But  the  question,  after  all,  is  a  practical  one.  In  whatever 
manner,  or  on  whatever  plea,  they  may  seek  relief,  there  can 
be  no  doubt  that  our  countrymen  of  the  next  generation  will 
refuse  to  bear  the  burden  of  a  great  hereditary  National  Debt. 
The  property  of  the  stock  inevitably  gravitates  to  those  por- 
tions of  the  country  where  capital  is  relatively  abundant,  and 
the  rates  of  profit  and  interest  are  low.  In  a  few  years,  four 
fifths  of  the  bonds  will  be  owned  in  the  northern  Atlantic 
States  or  in  Europe,  while  more  than  half  the  taxes  will  have 
to  be  paid  by  the  States  at  the  South  and  West  which  possess 
the  other  fifth.  Holding  more  than  half  of  the  political  power, 
how  long  will  the  latter  consent  to  be  heavily  taxed,  in  order 
to  pay  the  annual  charge  of  a  debt  originating  in  a  war  in 
which  their  own  immediate  ancestors  had  either  little  direct 


THE  PERPETUITY  OF  NATIONAL  DEBT.  91 

share,  or  an  adverse  interest  ?  The  present  population  of 
Oregon  and  California,  at  the  worst,  had  not  much  to  fear 
from  the  issue  of  the  conflict,  and  made  comparatively  few 
efforts  or  sacrifices  to  bring  it  to  a  close.  Even  the  great  evil 
which  produced  the  strife  hardly  concerned  them.  At  a  dis- 
tance of  three  thousand  miles  from  slavery  in  the  Southern 
States,  and  from  serfdom  in  Russia,  they  could  safely  repeat 
the  scornful  exclamation  of  the  Scotch  Campbells,  "  It  is  a  far 
cry  to  Lochow."  Still  less  will  the  people  of  Nevada,  Idaho, 
and  the  whole  cluster  of  States  which  will  soon  surround  them, 
be  inclined,  a  generation  hence,  to  support  their  portion  of  the 
common  burden.  The  wealth  which  they  will  then  have  will 
surely  be  of  their  own  creation,  for  even  yet  it  has  hardly  be- 
gun to  exist.  By  what  right,  they  will  ask,  can  our  present 
industry  be  impeded  and  deprived  of  its  just  reward,  in  order 
to  support  a  debt  created  a  generation  ago  by  a  civil  war 
among  the  people  east  of  the  Mississippi  ?  Such  questions  it 
will  be  easy  to  ask,  and  we  cannot  doubt  how  they  will  be  an- 
swered. 

As  the  result  of  all  these  considerations,  —  and  there  is 
terrible  force  in  some  of  them,  —  it  seems  of  the  utmost  im- 
portance to  make  provision  for  paying  off  the  debt  within  the 
lifetime  of  the  generation  that  contracted  it.  It  can  be  done, 
either  on  the  plan  here  proposed,  or  by  some  other  method, 
without  lessening  by  one  dollar  the  inheritance  of  those  who 
are  to  come  after  us.  As  already  shown,  it  will  be  the  same 
thing  to  the  heirs  whether  the  estate  descends  to  them  in  its 
present  size,  burdened  with  this  debt,  or  unincumbered,  but 
made  smaller,  by  its  payment.  I  know  the  idea  of  repudiation 
is  unpopular  now  ;  take  the  vote  to-morrow,  and  not  one  in  a 
thousand  will  vote  in  favor  of  it.  But  we  cannot  answer  for 
the  future,  for  the  men  of  1900,  especially  if  a  train  of  such 
disasters  should  come  upon  them  as  we  expei'ienced  in  the  com- 
mercial crises  in  1837,  in  1840,  and  again  in  1857.  To  be  en- 
tirely free  from  debt  is  the  most  efficient  preparation  that  can 
be  made  for  all  the  exigencies  of  the  future,  whether  political 
or  pecuniary. 

The  value  absorbed  in  loans  raised  at  home  is  so  much  with- 
drawn from  the  capital  employed  in  aiding  productive  industry 


92  THE   PERPETUITY   OF   NATIONAL   DEBT. 

within  the  country.  This  is  an  argument,  which  is  strongly 
urged  by  Dr.  Chalmers  and  Mr.  J.  S.  Mill,  in  favor  of  raising 
within  the  year  the  whole  of  the  supplies  needed  for  war  pur- 
poses, instead  of  obtaining  them  by  an  increase  of  the  National 
Debt.  Whatever  is  spent  unproductively,  they  say,  cannot  but 
be  drawn  from  capital  or  yearly  income.  "  The  whole  and 
every  part  of  the  wealth  existing  in  the  country  forms,  or  helps 
to  form,  the  yearly  income  of  somebody.  The  privation  which 
it  is  supposed  must  result  from  taking  the  amount  in  the  shape 
of  taxes  is  not  avoided  by  taking  it  in  a  loan.  The  suffering  is 
not  averted,  but  only  thrown  upon  the  laboring  classes,  —  the 
least  able,  and  who  least  ought,  to  bear  it ;  while  all  the  in- 
conveniences, physical,  moral,  and  political,  produced  by  main- 
taining taxes  for  the  perpetual  payment  of  the  interest,  are 
incurred  in  pure  loss.  Whenever  capital  is  withdrawn  from 
production,  or  from  the  fund  destined  for  production,  to  be  lent 
to  the  state  and  expended  unproductively,  that  whole  sum  is 
withheld  from  the  laboring  classes  ;  the  loan,  therefore,  is  in 
truth  paid  off  the  same  year  by  these  classes  ;  the  whole  of  the 
sacrifice  necessary  for  paying  it  off  is  actually  made  ;  only  it  is 
paid  to  the  wrong  persons,  and  therefore  does  not  extinguish 
the  claim ;  and  paid  by  the  very  worst  of  taxes,  —  a  tax  ex- 
clusively on  the  laboring  class.  And  after  having,  in  this  most 
painful  and  unjust  of  ways,  gone  through  the  whole  effort 
necessary  for  extinguishing  the  debt,  the  country  remains 
charged  with  it,  and  with  the  payment  of  its  interest,  in  per- 
petuity." 


THE  FINANCIAL  CONDUCT  OF  THE  WAR. 

A    LECTURE    DELIVERED    BEFORE    THE    LOWELL    INSTITUTE    IN    BOSTON,    IN 
NOVEMBER,   18G5.1 

THE  war  of  the  Great  Rebellion,  through  which  this  country 
has  recently  passed,  was  in  many  respects  unparalleled  in  his- 
tory. It  was  waged  on  a  larger  scale,  with  greater  armies  in 
the  field,  over  a  larger  extent  of  territory,  and  with  a  more 
lavish  expenditure  of  blood  and  treasure,  than  any  European 
war  of  modern  times.  The  means  and  enginery  with  which 
it  was  carried  on  were,  for  the  most  part,  novel  or  untried  in 
actual  warfare.  Oar  ships  and  artillery,  indeed,  were  to  a 
considerable  extent  invented  by  ourselves  while  the  war  was 
in  progress.  The  people  of  the  North,  numbering  only  twenty 
millions,  and  being  thus  almost  exactly  equal  to  the  popula- 
tion of  England  alone,  not  including  Scotland  or  Ireland,  main- 
tained, an  army  which,  during  the  period  of  active  operations 
in  the  field,  was  seldom  less  than  half  a  million  in  number, 
and  during  the  last  eighteen  months  of  the  war,  probably 
amounted  to  eight  hundred  thousand  men  constantly  under 
arms.  Our  navy,  built  in  great  part  after  hostilities  com- 
menced, numbered  at  last  over  six  hundred  and  fifty  vessels  of 
war,  mounting  about  five  thousand  guns,  many  of  which  were 

1  Some  of  the  topics  considered  in  this  paper  have  ceased  to  be  of  immediate 
interest  and  importance,  and  it  may  seem  unwise  to  renew  the  discussion  of  them 
at  this  late  day.  But  it  is  not  my  purpose  to  revive  an  obsolete  debate.  The 
article  is  inserted  here  partly  as  a  contribution  to  history,  as  a  record  of  the  feel- 
ings and  reflections  of  the  people  of  the  North  in  looking  back  upon  the  great  oc- 
currences of  the  war  which  were  then  fresh  in  the  memory;  and  partly  as  an  at- 
tempt to  preserve  those  teachings  of  experience  in  respect  to  the  principles  of 
finance  and  the  great  truths  of  Political  Economy,  which  may  be  set  forth  through 
a  criticism  of  the  management  of  the  finances  during  this  memorable  contest.  It 
is  only  necessary  to  remember  that  the  paper  was  written  less  than  six  months 
after  the  surrender  of  General  Lee's  army,  which  was  virtually  the  end  of  the 
war. 


94  THE   FINANCIAL   CONDUCT   OF    THE   WAR. 

of  much  larger  calibre  than  had  ever  been  put  afloat  before. 
The  United  Kingdom  of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland,  when  it 
put  forward  its  greatest  energies  during  the  last  year  of  the 
war  against  Napoleon,  its  population  then  consisting  of  eight- 
een millions,  had  but  two  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  men 
in  its  regular  army ;  and  even  if  the  regular  militia,  who  never 
visited  the  scene  of  active  operations,  be  added,  the  aggregate 
hardly  exceeded  three  hundred  thousand. 

The  task  which  the  vast  armaments  of  the  North  had  to  per- 
form was  the  entire  subjugation  of  at  least  eight  millions  of 
whites,  who  were  fed,  and  to  a  considerable  degree  supported, 
by  four  millions  of  slaves.  The  disparity  of  numbers  was  cer- 
tainly great  in  favor  of  the  Free  States.  But  it  must  be  re- 
membered that,  in  any  war,  the  party  which  acts  merely  upon 
the  defensive  has  an  immense  advantage  ;  and  this  advantage 
was  especially  great  on  the  side  of  the  Confederates,  owing  to 
the  vast  extent  of  their  territory.  The  area  of  the  Slave 
States,  not  including  Maryland  or  Delawai'e,  exceeds  eight 
hundred  and  thirty  thousand  square  miles,  and  is  therefore 
about  equal  in  magnitude  to  the  whole  of  Great  Britain, 
France,  Austria,  Spain,  and  Italy  united.  With  the  exception 
of  Texas,  the  whole  of  this  vast  region  was  penetrated  and 
overrun  by  the  armies  of  the  North.  While  this  aggressive 
movement  was  going  on,  it  was  necessary  to  guard  against  a 
counter  invasion  a  frontier  line  extending  from  the  eastern 
limits  of  Kansas  to  the  mouth  of  the  Chesapeake,  a  distance  of 
over  thirteen  hundred  miles.  A  coast  line  over  thirty-five 
hundred  miles  in  length  had  to  be  blockaded,  and  the  long 
reach  of  the  Mississippi  River  below  Cairo  had  to  be  opened, 
and  kept  open,  through  a  hostile  territory. 

The  difficulty  of  overrunning  the  vast  country  of  the  enemy 
was  much  increased  by  the  sparseness  of  the  population,  by 
the  large  tracts  of  hills  and  forests,  and  especially  by  the  want 
of  good  roads.  European  generals,  accustomed  to  conduct 
campaigns  only  through  the  populous  regions  of  the  Low 
Countries,  France,  and  central  Europe,  where  the  ground  is 
perfectly  cultivated,  the  crops  are  abundant,  and  numei'ous  and 
excellent  highways  afford  every  facility  for  the  movements  of 
heavy  columns  of  troops  in  any  direction,  would  have  been  dis- 


THE   FINANCIAL   CONDUCT   OF   THE   WAR.  95 

heartened  at  the  very  thought  of  leading  a  great  army  through 
such  wild  districts,  in  the  face  of  an  enemy  acquainted  with 
every  foot  of  the  ground,  and  finding  firm  allies  in  every  log 
cabin.  The  very  name  of  the  region  within  which  were  fought 
two  of  the  most  sanguinary  battles  of  the  war,  "  the  Wilder- 
ness," suggests  the  great  difficulties  which  our  generals  had  to 
encounter.  In  truth,  the  greater  part  of  the  ground  which  the 
army  of  the  Potomac  fought  over,  from  the  beginning  to  the 
end  of  the  Avar,  was  little  more  than  a  wilderness,  intersected 
not  by  roads,  but  by  muddy  cowpaths.  East  Tennessee,  in 
particular,  is  a  vast  natural  fortress,  entirely  surrounded  by 
great  ranges  of  mountains,  which  even  our  best  troops  might 
have  found  impregnable,  if  some  loyal  hearts  and  stout  hands 
had  not  luckily  dwelt  there  among  the  hills.  Little  use  could 
be  made,  under  such  circumstances,  of  the  tactics  and  strategy 
of  the  Old  World;  a  new  science  of  war  had  to  be  invented 
for  the  occasion.  Railroads  and  navigable  streams  formed,  it 
is  true,  avenues  of  approach  to  some  important  points  in  the 
heart  of  the  enemy's  country.  But  these  were  comparatively 
few  in  number,  separated  by  vast  intervals  from  each  other, 
and  difficult,  it!  not  impossible,  to  be  guarded  along  their  im- 
mense length  against  a  hostile  population.  It  was  not  till  the 
genius  of  one  of  our  military  leaders,  who  has  fairly  earned  his 
place  among  the  most  illustrious  generals  either  of  ancient  or 
modern  times,  devised  and  executed  a  plan  for  quitting  these 
lines  of  operation,  abandoning  all  connection  with  a  base  of 
supplies,  and  striking  oft'  through  the  centre  of  the  enemy's 
vast  territory  on  a  devastating  march,  the  length  and  breadth 
of  which  reduced  even  Napoleon's  campaign  in  Russia  almost 
to  insignificance,  that  the  problem  of  completely  subjugating  a 
great  and  determined  nation,  inhabiting  a  country  of  vast  ex- 
tent and  boundless  resources  of  defence,  can  be  said  to  have 
been  fairly  solved.  Other  captains  have  known  how  to  win 
great  battles  ;  but  Sherman  was  the  first  to  accomplish  what 
great  authorities  had  declared  to  be  impossible,  —  to  thor- 
oughly subdue  a  whole  people. 

I  have  thus  briefly  alluded  to  the  magnitude  and  difficulties 
of  the  war,  in  order  to  account  for  that  feature  of  it  which  be- 
lon^s  directly  to  our  subject,  —  the  enormous  expense  at  which 


96  THE    FINANCIAL   CONDUCT    OF    THE   WAR. 

it  was  carried  on.  Here,  again,  history  fails  to  afford  any  par- 
allel to  the  facts  which  we  have  to  consider.  It  had  long  been 
the  boast  of  our  people,  that  we  had  nothing  which  deserved 
to  be  called  a  National  Debt ;  that  ours  was  the  cheapest  gov- 
ernment on  earth,  and,  as  a  consequence,  that  we  were  more 
lightly  taxed  than  any  other  people.  Perhaps  these  assertions 
were  not  strictly  true,  though  there  was  more  foundation  for 
them  than  there  usually  is  for  national  boasts.  They  were 
true  in  the  main,  so  far  as  concerns  the  National  government 
alone ;  but  taking  the  aggregate  of  our  National,  State,  and 
municipal  institutions,  they  require  considerable  qualification. 
The  burden  of  municipal  taxation  has  long  been  heavy,  espe- 
cially if  we  regard  great  cities,  such  as  Boston  and  New  York ; 
and  the  grand  total  of  public  debt,  including  that  of  the  in- 
dividual States,  as  well  as  of  the  cities  and  towns,  was  by  no 
means  inconsiderable.  Perhaps  the  chief  reason  of  the  heavy 
expense  was,  that  in.  this  country  we  have  always  assumed  to 
do  more  at  the  public  charge  than  elsewhere,  and  to  leave  less 
to  individual  enterprise.  Thus  we  educate  the  whole  people 
at  the  public  cost,  and  our  States  and  municipalities  have  aided 
enterprises  of  internal  improvement  and  general  charity  more, 
perhaps,  than  was  prudent.  But  however  this  may  have  been 
formerly,  it  is  certain  that  we  now  [1865]  have  very  different 
reasons  for  self-complacency.  If  inclined  to  boast  at  all,  and 
it  would  be  unreasonable  to  expect  that  we  should  immediately 
overcome  the  force  of  long  habit  in  this  respect,  we  must  now 
congratulate  ourselves  that,  during  the  last  four  years,  we  have 
spent  money  at  a  rate  for  which  no  precedent  can  be  found  on 
record,  and  that  we  are  now  the  most  heavily  taxed  people  on 
earth. 

Hitherto,  the  heaviest  and  most  rapidly  accumulated  Na- 
tional Debt  was  that  of  Great  Britain.  At  the  beginning  of 
the  great  contest  with  France,  in  1703,  this  debt  amounted 
to  about  two  hundred  and  fifty  millions  sterling,  having  been 
recently  more  than  doubled  in  amount  by  the  war  of  the 
American  Revolution.  When  the  contest  was  ended  by  the 
final  downfall  of  Napoleon,  in  1815,  the  debt  had  risen  to 
about  eight  hundred  and  "fifty  millions,  being  an  accumulation 
of  over  six  hundred  millions  sterling,  or  somewhat  less  than 


THE    FINANCIAL   CONDUCT    OF   THE   WAR.  97 

three  thousand  millions  of  dollars,  in  twenty-two  years.  In 
the  spring  of  1861,  the  United  States  owed  only  seventy-five 
millions  of  dollars ;  in  the  summer  of  18G5,  if  we  include  out- 
standing claims  and  certificates  of  indebtedness,  they  owed 
little  less  than  three  thousand  millions.  In  other  words,  dur- 
ing the  four  years  of  the  contest,  we  incurred  almost  precisely 
the  same  amount  of  debt  which  England  did  during  the 
twenty-two  years  of  her  struggle  against  the  French  Revolu- 
tion and  the  Emperor  Napoleon.  We  ran  in  debt  over  five 
times  as  fast.  This  is  not  all.  During  the  same  four  years, 
the  individual  States  of  the  North,  together  with  the  cities 
and  towns,  were  obliged  to  effect  heavy  loans  in  order  to  fill 
their  quotas,  and  for  other  purposes  of  the  war.  Massachu- 
setts alone  thus  increased  her  debt  from  less  than  two,  to  more 
than  twenty,  millions.  The  aggregate  of  these  State  and  mu- 
nicipal debts,  a  considerable  portion  of  which  may  be  ulti- 
mately paid  by  the  general  government,  cannot  now  be  esti- 
mated ;  but  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  the  aggregate 
indebtedness  of  the  American  people  in  their  collective  capac- 
ity now  equals  that  of  the  United  Kingdom  of  Great  Britain 
and  Ireland.  Of  course,  on  account  of  the  higher  rates  of 
interest  as  yet  paid,  the  annual  charge  of  our  debt  is  consid- 
erably larger  than  that  of  the  English.  The  largest  expendi- 
ture of  the  British  government  during  any  one  year  of  the 
war  with  France  was  about  five  hundred  and  fifty  millions  of 
dollars  ;  of  our  government,  during  the  civil  war,  it  was  at 
least  one  thousand  millions. 

These  facts  are  certainly  of  great  interest  and  significance  ; 
if  it  were  not  for  our  deep  and  lasting  conviction  of  the  im- 
measurable importance  of  the  cause  for  which  the  people  gladly 
took  this  immense  burden  upon  themselves  and  their  poster- 
ity, it  might  even  be  said  that  they  are  appalling.  The  tran- 
sition has  been  so  sudden  and  overwhelming,  that  it  is  dif- 
ficult at  this  early  day  to  measure  its  extent,  or  to  estimate 
fairly  its  nature  and  consequences.  I  shall  not  attempt  to 
conceal,  or  even  to  palliate,  any  of  the  evils  of  this  great 
change  in  our  financial  condition.  At  the  same  time,  a  fair 
view  of  the  whole  case,  under  the  light  of  those  great  prin- 
ciples of  economical  and  political  science,  which  are  now  fully 
7 


98  THE   FINANCIAL   CONDUCT    OF    THE   WAR. 

established  in  theory  and  verified  by  the  experience  of  the 
civilized  world  during  the  last  two  or  three  centuries,  will 
suggest  many  reasons  why  we  should  not  look  upon  the  fut- 
ure either  with  dread  or  despondency.  A  great  National 
Debt  is  undeniably  a  great  evil ;  and  the  heavy  taxation  which 
it  inevitably  produces,  if  not  the  most  serious,  is  certainly  the 
most  annoying,  of  all  drawbacks  upon  national  prosperity. 
Hitherto,  in  this  country,  our  boast  has  been  that  we  were 
free  from  all  great  burdens  imposed  by  the  government ;  in 
future,  if  we  boast  at  all,  it  must  be  that  we  are  able  to  bear 
immense  burdens  without  flinching.  Hitherto,  with  us,  the 
tax-gatherer  has  been  but  an  infrequent  visitant,  and  one  whose 
hunger  was  easily  appeased.  At  present,  we  are  doomed  to 
meet  him  at  every  turn,  to  find  him  prying  into  all  our  con- 
cerns, and  interfering  with  every  employment  which  we  can 
take  up.  Almost  every  time  that  any  person,  in  the  ordinary 
transaction  of  business,  signs  his  name,  he  must  affix  to  it  a 
stamp  of  greater  or  less  cost.  We  are  taxed  for  our  food  and 
drink ;  for  the  clothes  that  we  wear ;  for  the  books  and  news- 
papers that  we  read  ;  for  the  fuel,  gas,  and  oil  that  we  burn; 
for  our  medicines  when  we  are  sick,  and  our  diversions  when 
we  are  well.  To  adopt  in  part  Sydney  Smith's  lively  illustra- 
tion, the  baby  must  be  rocked  in  a  taxed  cradle,  and  the  old 
man  must  sleep  at  last  in  a  taxed  grave. 

It  cannot  be  denied  that  all  this  is  a  severe  discouragement 

O 

to  industry  and  enterprise.  Suppose  the  aggregate  weight  of 
the  taxes  to  be  not  more  than  five  per  cent,  of  the  total  annual 
product  of  the  labor  of  our  people,  —  a  supposition  which  is 
probably  below  the  truth.  Then  the  effect  of  imposing  these 
taxes  is,  not  merely  as  if  a  blight  had  suddenly  fallen  on  the 
whole  land  and  swept  off  one  twentieth  of  the  whole  crop ; 
but,  as  the  evil  is  renewed  each  successive  year,  it  is  as  if  all 
the  fields  were  struck  with  partial  but  lasting  sterility,  so  as 
to  be  rendered  incapable  for  many  years  of  yielding  more  than 
nineteen  bushels,  where  they  formerly  yielded  twenty.  The 
proceeds  of  all  our  mines,  fisheries,  manufactories,  and  indus- 
trial undertakings,  are  diminished  in  the  same  proportion. 
To  this  extent,  also,  prices  must  generally  rise  and  wages  fall. 
As  Adam  Smith  remarks,  heavy  taxes  on  necessaries  become 


THE   FINANCIAL   CONDUCT    OF    THE   WAR.  99 

"  a  curse  equal  to  the  barrenness  of  the  soil  and  the  inclem- 
ency of  the  climate."  Labor  is  rendered  less  productive,  and 
accumulation  more  slow  and  difficult.  Our  annual  burden  is 
now  so  great,  that  with  all  the  care  which  can  be  exercised  in 
its  apportionment  and  distribution,  a  large  portion  of  it  must 
fall  on  necessaries,  and  a  still  larger  part  on  the  ordinary  com- 
forts of  life.  It  cannot  all  be  placed  on  silks,  fine  linens,  per- 
sonal ornaments,  costly  furniture,  and  the  like  ;  for  such  com- 
modities form  but  a  small  fraction  of  the  aggregate  expenditure 
of  our  people,  and  if  the  assessment  upon  them  is  made  exor- 
bitant, it  becomes  pi'ohibitory,  and  the  consumption  falls  off 
so  much  that  the  revenue  is  not  benefited  more  than  it  would 
be  by  a  lighter  rate.  Accordingly,  tea,  coffee,  sugar,  tobacco, 
and  the  coarser  and  more  common  manufactures  of  cotton, 
wool,  and  iron,  must  be  assessed,  as  they  have  been,  with  no 
sparing  hand.  And  for  clerks,  most  clergymen,  small  mechan- 
ics, even  common  laborers,  such  taxes  become  oppressive,  and 
often  entail  severe  privation.  Tobacco  is  a  luxury,  it  may  be 
said  ;  so  it  is,  for  the  rich  ;  but  for  large  classes  of  the  poor, 
long  habit  has  rendered  it  a  necessary,  though  perhaps  a  per- 
nicious, indulgence. 

It  is  a  common  but  delusive  mode  of  estimating  the  weight 
of  taxation,  to  compare  its  amount  with  the  total  annual  prod- 
uct of  the  national  industry ;  and  on  finding  that  it  bears  but 
a  small  proportion  to  this  product,  —  in  the  case  that  I  have 
supposed,  only  five  per  cent., — to  jump  to  the  conclusion  that 
it  may  be  very  easily  borne.  But  it  must  be  remembered,  that 
the  whole  nation  must  be  supported  for  a  year  out  of  this  an- 
nual product,  much  the  larger  portion  of  it  being  thus  neces- 
sarily consumed  in  supplying  us  with  food,  drink,  clothing,  and 
shelter  till  new  products  can  be  created.  It  is  only  from  the 
savings  of  income,  from  the  surplus  of  the  annual  product 
over  this  necessary  annual  expenditure,  that  capital  can  be 
accumulated  and  wealth  increased.  Now  this  surplus  is  rela- 
tively small ;  for  a  very  large  class,  it  is  nothing  ;  they  spend 
as  fast  and  as  much  as  they  earn  or  receive.  For  most  of 
the  remainder,  —  that  is,  for  those  who  are  really  frugal,  or 
"  money-getting,"  as  we  term  them,  and  on  whom  the  whole 
progress  of  the  community  in  opulence  must  depend,  this  sur- 


100  THE   FINANCIAL   CONDUCT   OF   THE   WAR. 

plus  cannot  exceed  on  an  average  ten  per  cent.  Kow  five  per 
cent,  on  the  annual  product  takes  away  just  half  of  this  resi- 
due, and  thereby  makes  the  accumulation  of  capital  only  half 
as  rapid  as  it  was  before  the  imposition  of  the  tax.  In  truth, 
the  diminution  is  more  than  half ;  because  frugality  itself  is 
discouraged  when  half  of  its  reward  is  taken  away.  Men  save 
less,  and  become  apathetic  in  respect  to  the  future.  The  very 
sources  of  national  prosperity  are  partially  dried  up. 

To  these  evils  of  a  great  National  Debt  and  heavy  taxation 
must  be  added  their  demoralizing  effect  upon  the  politics  of 
the  country  and  the  character  of  the  people.  Large  financial 
operations  by  the  government  multiply  the  temptation  and  the 
openings  for  intrigue  and  fraud,  and  cause  the  results  of  these 
evil  practices  to  be  far  more  injurious  to  the  great  interests  of 
the  nation.  On  this  account,  I  fear  that  what  may  be  called 
the  heroic  age  of  the  Republic  is  past  and  gone.  Hencefor- 
ward the  virtues  of  simplicity,  frugality,  and  a  disinterested 
patriotism  are  to  be  of  less  account  and  more  infrequent  oc- 
currence in  our  national  concerns.  When  every  financial  act 
by  Congress  and  every  movement  by  the  United  States  Treas- 
ury, through  its  inevitable  effects  upon  the  stock  market,  must 
cause  millions — even  tens  and  hundreds  of  millions  —  to  be 
lost  or  won,  we  mav  expect  the  whole  machinery  of  political 
management,  official  corruption,  and  party  strife  to  be  brought 
into  large  and  vigorous  action.  The  contest  of  opposing  fac- 
tions will  not,  perhaps,  be  fiercer,  but  it  will  be  far  more  sordid. 
The  struggle  will  be  to  determine,  not  merely  who  shall  be 
fed  at  the  public  crib,  but  among  whom  the  whole  contents  of 
the  barn  shall  be  distributed.  The  battle  will  be  waged  more 
furiously,  and  with  less  scruple  as  to  the  amount  of  harm  done 
to  great  national  interests,  because  the  rewards  of  victory  will 
be  immense.  Unless  a  higher  and  better  class  of  statesmen 

O 

can  be  found,  and  raised  to  stations  of  great  public  trust,  than 
those  who  have  too  frequently  of  late  years  disgraced  our  na- 
tional councils,  I  fear  a  marked  deterioration  of  the  character 
of  our  government  and  the  political  habits  of  the  people. 

I  have  endeavored  to  state  these  evils  in  the  present  and 
future  state  of  our  financial  affairs  frankly,  and  yet  without 
exaggeration,  in  order  to  prepare  the  way  for  regarding  the 


THE   FINANCIAL   CONDUCT    OF    THE   WAR.  101 

other  side  of  the  picture.  Make  what  allowance  for  them  we 
may,  there  is  still  much  reason  for  looking  back  with  pride, 
and  forward  without  despondency.  The  evils  of  a  vast  National 
Debt  and  a  heavy  system  of  taxation  are  great ;  but  they  are 
the  price  which,  we  have  paid  for  a  restored  and  strengthened 
Union,  and  for  striking  off  the  fetters  from  four  millions  of 
slaves ;  and  I  believe  the  price  is  not  exorbitant.  Hencefor- 
ward, whatever  blame  foreigners  may  impute  to  us,  they  can- 
not cast  "slavery"  in  our  teeth.  We  have  wiped  off  the  only 
great  blot  on  our  national  escutcheon,  and  that,  too,  at  a  cost, 
a  sacrifice,  which  must  forever  redeem  our  people  from  the 
reproach  of  being  a  generation  of  dollar-hunters.  And  the 
exertions  through  which  we  have  accomplished  this  great  good 
have  established  the  position  of  this  country  as  the  first  mili- 
tary and  naval  power  in  the  world.  Certainly  no  kingdom  or 
empire  in  Europe  could  fit  out  and  maintain  such  armaments 
as  we  have  kept  up  for  four  years,  could  wage  so  many  and 
so  desperate  conflicts  with  them,  could  overrun  so  vast  a  ter- 
ritory, and  come  out  of  the  protracted  struggle  at  last  with 
so  few  tokens  of  exhaustion.  Russia  alone  has  perhaps  as 
great  defensive  power,  though  her  means  of  offence  are  less, 
and  her  maritime  power  must  always  be  comparatively  insig- 
nificant. Moreover,  Russian  statesmen  have  long  recognized 
the  truth,  that  their  country  and  the  United  States  are  natural 
allies,  with  no  possible  cause  of  opposition  or  rivalry,  and  with 
every  inducement  to  peace  and  friendship.  Alone  among  all 
the  powers  of  Europe,  Russia  has  manifested  full  sympathy 
with  our  Northern  States  throughout  the  Great  Rebellion  ;  and 
with  her  for  an  ally  or  a  friendly  neutral,  America  has  hence- 
forward no  cause  to  fear  the  w^orld  in  arms. 

Of  course,  we  all  desire  that  the  great  advantage  thus  gained 
may  be  used  only  for  defensive  purposes. 

"  It  is  excellent 

To  have  a  giant's  strength  ;  but  't  is  tyrannous 
To  use  it  like  a  giant." 

It  is  an  advantage  to  have  firmly  established  for  the  future 
our  right  to  be  let  alone.  It  is  no  satisfaction  to  a  right-mean- 
ing man  to  know,  that  he  is  strong  enough  to  be  able  to  bully 
others  with  impunity  ;  but  our  recent  experience  has  taught 


102  THE    FINANCIAL   CONDUCT    OF    THE   WAR. 

us  that  it  may  be  a  great  satisfaction  to  know  that  we  cannot 
safely  be  bullied.  At  the  time  of  the  affair  of  the  Trent,  Mr. 
Bright  reminded  the  English  ministers  in  Parliament,  that  it 
was  no  great  proof  either  of  strength  or  manliness  to  threaten 
a  man  who  had  his  right  arm  in  a  sling.  Perhaps  even  the 
"  Times "  newspaper  may  by  this  time  have  some  doubts, 
•whether  it  would  be  perfectly  safe  for  England  to  bully  the 
United  States,  even  if  the  right  arm  of  the  latter  country  be 
in  a  sling. 

The  war  has  given  us  a  consciousness  of  our  own  strength  ; 
but  there  is  little  reason  to  fear  that  it  has  so  far  established 
military  habits  among  the  people,  or  so  far  developed  in  them 
a  love  of  strife  and  a  thirst  for  military  adventure,  as  to  render 
it  difficult  in  future  to  maintain  peace  with  other  nations.  On 
the  contrary,  our  immense  army  of  volunteers  hailed  with  joy 
the  close  of  hostilities,  not  merely  because  the  cause  for  which 
they  fought  had  triumphed,  but  because  it  announced  that 
their  services  were  no  longer  needed,  and  they  were  at  liberty 
to  go  home  and  resume  their  former  occupations.  Those  regi- 
ments deemed  themselves  most  fortunate  who  were  the  first  to 
be  disbanded  ;  all  were  in  a  hurry  to  leave  the  battle-field  and 
the  camp  behind  them.  So  it  must  always  be.  However  it 
may  be  in  the  Old  World,  in  a  country  like  ours  a  soldier's 
life  has  but  few  attractions,  as  there  is  no  difficulty  in  finding 
easier  and  more  profitable  employment  at  home,  among  the 
varied  pursuits  of  peace.  The  extinction  of  slavery  has  re- 
moved all  desire  for  the  annexation  of  foreign  lands.  We  have 
enough  to  do  to  cultivate  the  territory  which  already  belongs 
to  us;  Canada  or  Mexico  would  be  only  a  burden,  and  the 
possession  of  either  might  imperil  the  Union  which  we  have 
fought  to  reestablish. 

For  these  and  other  reasons,  it  does  not  seem  probable  that 
a  large  standing  army  will  ever  be  necessary  for  our  protec- 
tion. The  country  will  find  no  unprovoked  assailants,  for  the 
military  and  naval  reputation  which  it  has  acquired  will  be  an 
abundant  safeguard,  even  if  its  last  fortress  should  be  disman- 
tled. The  history  of  the  Great  Rebellion,  while  it  shows  the 
priceless  importance  of  military  and  naval  training-schools, 
like  West  Point  and  the  Naval  Academy,  seems  to  me  to  dem- 


THE   FINANCIAL    CONDUCT   OF    THE   WAR.  103 

onstrate  the  inutility  of  great  standing  armies.  What  regular 
troops  we  had  at  the  outset  accomplished  nothing ;  the  war 
was  really  fought  and  the  victory  achieved  by  volunteers. 
Besides,  for  many  years  to  come,  we  may  be  said  to  possess 
already  a  powerful  veteran  army.  In  one  sense,  the  troops  of 
Grant,  Sherman,  and  Thomas,  —  aye,  and  of  Johnston  and 
Lee,  —  are  not  disbanded  ;  they  have  only  gone  home  on  fur- 
lough. Should  any  real  emergency  arise,  the  first  bugle-call 
would  bring  the  larger  portion  of  them  again  into  the  field. 
A  few  black  troops  may  be  needed  to  garrison  the  forts  along 
the  Southern  Atlantic  and  the  Gulf  coasts  ;  and  a  regular 
army  no  larger  than  we  had  before  the  war  may  still  be  main- 
tained, as  before,  to  perform  the  functions  of  a  military  police. 
But  the  expensive  folly  of  keeping  a  vast  number  of  troops 
on  foot  in  a  time  of  profound  peace,  merely  as  a  menace  to 
one's  neighbors,  may  be  left  to  the  powers  of  the  Old  World. 

Again,  there  is  the  best  reason  to  believe  that  the  very  thing 
which  most  persons  regard  as  a  proof  of  financial  weakness  is 
really  the  firmest  safeguard  of  national  union  and  strength. 
Say  what  we  may  about  the  evils  of  a  great  National  Debt,  it  is 
still  incontestable  that  such  a  debt  will  do  more  to  tighten  and 
strengthen  the  bonds  which  now  hold  our  Union  together  than 
all  other  causes  united.  Especially  is  this  the  case  when  the 
debt  is  contracted,  as  ours  in  the  main  has  been,  in  the  form 
of  great  popular  loans,  every  class  in  society,  down  even  to 
that  of  the  common  laborers,  being  represented  among  its  hold- 
ers. If  there  had  been  one  hundred  thousand  holders  of  na- 
tional stock  south  of  the  Potomac  and  the  Ohio,  this  rebellion 
against  the  national  government  would  have  been  impossible. 
With  a  million,  or  even  half  a  million,  of  owners  of  such  stock 
scattered  throughout  all  the  States,  we  should  never  again  hear 
a  whisper  of  disloyalty  to  the  government  which  punctually 
paid  the  interest  on  its  bonds.  It  was  the  great  National  Debt 
of  England  which,  in  April,  1848,  converted  every  fourth  man 
in  London  into  a  special  constable  to  fight  for  the  government, 
and  made  the  vast  assemblage  of  the  Chartists  on  Kensington 
Common  a  ludicrous  failure.  The  heavy  debt  of  Austria,  the 
same  year,  prevented  that  conglomerate  empire  from  being 
shivered  into  as  many  fragments  as  it  counts  races  and  Ian- 


104  THE  FINANCIAL   CONDUCT    OF    THE   WAR. 

guages  among  its  subjects.  Our  debt  has  already  become  a 
great  Savings  Bank  for  the  people,  investments  in  which  have 
been  so  popular,  that,  especially  during  the  last  eight  or  nine 
months,  investments  in  Savings  Banks,  strictly  so  called,  have 
materially  diminished.  It  is  no  small  gain  that  every  journey- 
man mechanic  or  common  laborer,  who  owns  a  fifty-dollar  sev- 
en-thirty bond  —  and  their  number  is  probably  greater  than  I 
should  now  venture  to  estimate — has  become  deeply  interested 
in  the  safety,  the  well-being,  and  the  financial  honor  of  the 
government  which  now  punctually  pays  him  one  cent  a  day. 

Moreover,  the  very  circumstance  that  this  immense  debt 
was  contracted  in  the  brief  period  of  four  years,  when  the 
country  was  dissevered,  and  the  hearts  of  the  people  racked 
with  the  pains  and  anxieties  of  a  terrible  civil  war,  affords 
the  clearest  possible  indication  of  the  magnitude  and  the 
elasticity  of  the  national  resources.  English  writers  have 
often  boasted,  and  with  good  reason,  of  the  enormous  wealth 
of  their  nation,  and  the  confidence  that  was  felt  in  the  sta- 
bility and  honor  of  the  government,  in  that  the  ministry 
were  able,  in  the  very  crisis  of  their  great  struggle  with  Xa- 
poleon,  to  raise  each  year  with  ease  the  great  loans  that 
were  necessary  to  meet  the  annual  expenses  of  the  war.  In 
the  last  and  most  expensive  year  of  the  contest,  these  loans 
amounted  to  forty  millions  sterling,  or  less  than  two  hundred 

t-  O  ' 

millions  of  dollars  ;  and  the  English  historian  of  the  period 
remarks :  "  Such  was  the  unshaken  credit  and  inexhausti- 
ble capital  of  Great  Britain,  that  these  prodigious  loans  were 
raised,  in  this  the  twenty-first  year  of  the  war,  at  the  low  rate 
of  four  and  three  fifths  per  cent,  of  annual  interest;  and  that 
even  on  these  reduced  terms  "  there  was  great  competition 
among  the  lenders.  But  in  the  last  year  of  the  Great  Rebel- 
lion, the  loans  raised  by  our  government,  and  taken  up  by  the 
people  of  the  loyal  States  alone,  were  four  times  as  great, 
amounting  to  eight  hundred  millions  :  and  this,  too,  though 
the  war  was  fought  on  our  own  territory,  though  one  third  of 

\J   i  O 

our  States  and  people  were  in  arms  against  us,  though  what 
had  been  two  of  our  great  staples  of  export,  cotton  and  tobacco, 
were  entirely  cut  oil',  and  our  foreign  commerce,  under  the 
operations  of  a  heavy  tariff  and  of  piratical  cruisers,  fitted  out 


THE    FINANCIAL   CONDUCT    OF    THE   WAR.  105 

and  manned  in  English  ports,  had  lost  at  least  a  third  of  its 
natural  dimensions.  Great  Britain  never  suffered  from  the 
tread  of  an  enemy  on  her  own  island  ground,  all  fears,  even  of 
a  French  invasion,  having  passed  away  at  least  ten  years  be- 
fore the  downfall  of  Napoleon. 

The  fact,  indeed,  that  all  our  debt  was  primarily  contracted 
to  our  own  people,  and  is  still  to  a  great  extent  owned  within 
the  country,  is  an  independent  source  of  gratification  and  hope 
in  the  present  aspect  of  the  finances.  The  government  has 
never  been  obliged  to  contract  a  foreign  loan  ;  and  though, 
during  the  last  year  of  the  war,  American  stocks  found  an 
abundant  market  in  Europe,  they  were  sent  thither  only  by  in- 
dividuals, and  not  from  necessity,  and  only  because  foreigners 
prized  them  even  more  highly  than  our  own  countrymen.  Of 
course,  the  reason  for  such  higher  appreciation  is,  that  loanable 
capital  is  relatively  cheaper  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic, 
and  must  always  remain  so,  so  long  as  the  profits  on  the  em- 
ployment of  capital  are  greater  at  home  than  abroad.  Thus, 
it  is  an  indication,  not  of  the  poverty,  but  of  the  immense 
natural  wealth,  of  California,  that  the  annual  rate  of  interest 
there  is  from  twelve  to  eighteen  per  cent.  Such  a  domestic 
debt  as  that  which  we  are  now  laboring  under,  —  and  the  same 
thing  must  be  said  of  the  national  debt  of  England,  —  is  one 
of  a  peculiar  character.  In  one  sense,  the  country  is  not  in 
debt  at  all,  but  the  people,  in  their  collective  capacity,  are  in- 
debted to  a  portion  of  their  own  number,  as  individuals  ;  so 
that  every  creditor  of  the  government  is  at  the  same  time  its 
debtor,  and  is  obliged  to  pay  in  part  the  very  interest-money 
which  he  receives.  What  is  this  but  a  debt  of  the  right  hand 
to  the  left,  or  pay.ing  out  of  one  pocket  into  another  ? 

This  fact,  as  I  have  said,  is  a  source  of  gratification  and 
hope ;  but  it  must  not  be  pressed  too  far,  for  it  does  not 
actually  render  our  financial  condition  one  whit  the  easier. 
The  people  of  this  country,  or  of  any  country,  form  a  unit,  or 
are  united  into  one  body,  only  in  a  political  sense  ;  most  of  our 
rights  and  obligations  are  such  as  adhere  to  us  merely  in  our 
individual  capacities.  If  deeply  in  debt,  the  discomfort  of  my 
position  is  not  at  all  alleviated  by  the  fact  that  my  creditor 
happens  to  be  one  of  my  own  countrymen.  And  if  a  large  and 


106  THE   FINANCIAL   CONDUCT    OF    THE   WAR. 

wealthy  corporation  owe  me  a  considerable  sum,  I  am  so  much 
the  richer,  even  though  I  am  a  stockholder  to  an  insignificant 
amount  in  the  very  corporation  which  is  my  debtor.  Just  so, 
it  is  a  burden,  and  a  pretty  heavy  one,  for  every  individual  in 
the  community  to  be  bound  to  pay  the  government  each  year 
one  twentieth  part  of  his  earnings,  because  the  government  is 
deeply  in  debt ;  aud  the  burden  is  not  made  lighter  by  reflect- 
ing that  nineteen  twentieths  of  the  sum  thus  assessed  upon 
him  is  paid  to  a  fellow-countryman,  perhaps  a  neighbor. 

But  the  matter  may  be  viewed  in  another  aspect.  The 
ability  of  a  portion  of  our  people,  during  only  four  years  of 
war,  to  lend  to  our  government  3,000  millions  of  dollars,  the 
whole  nation  during  the  same  period  contributing  about  750 
millions  more  in  various  forms- of  national  taxation,  is  but  one 
indication  among  many  of  what  certainly  appears,  at  the  first 
sight,  to  be  the  most  startling  phenomenon  in  the  financial 
history  of  the  Great  Rebellion.  The  aggregate  sum  furnished 
by  the  people  of  the  loyal  States  during  these  four  years,  in 
the  form  either  of  loans  or  taxes,  to  provide  for  the  general 
wants  of  the  government  and  for  carrying  on  the  war,  was 
3,750  millions  of  dollars,  a  sum  almost  exactly  equal  to  the 
English  national  debt ;  and  if  we  include  State  and  municipal 
taxes,  and  loans  raised  exclusively  for  war  purposes,  consider- 
ably exceeding  that  debt.  The  marvellous  phenomenon  in- 
dicated by  these  statistics  is,  that  this  four  years  period  of  the 
most  awful  civil  war  of  which  there  is  any  record  in  history 
has  been,  in  all  that  regards  the  financial,  commercial,  and  in- 
dustrial interests  of  our  northern  people,  a  period  of  wholly 
unexampled  prosperity. 

Certainly  I  have  no  disposition  to  palliate  the  horrors  of  this 
war :  and  I  know  that  the  darkest  picture  which  I  could  draw 
of  them  would  be  instinctively  approved  by  the  heart  of  every 
one  that  hears  me.  This  fearful  contest  has  withdrawn  about 
one  fifth  of  the  able-bodied  population  of  the  North,  and  nearly 
the  whole  of  that  of  the  South,  from  the  peaceful  pursuits  of 
industry  in  order  to  engage  them  in  the  terrible  occupation  of 
killing  each  other.  It  has  devastated  eight  or  ten  large  and 
formerly  flourishing  States,  large  portions  of  them  being  swept, 
as  it  were,  with  the  very  besom  of  destruction.  It  has  cost 


THE   FINANCIAL   CONDUCT   OF    THE   WAR.  107 

the  North  alone  nearly  half  a  million  of  lives,  many  —  very 
many — of  them  being  of  our  best  or  bravest.  The  happiest 
portion  of  those  whom  we  have  lost  have  fallen  by  the  bullet 
or  the  sword;  a  much  larger  number,  by  some  of  the  numerous 
forms  of  camp  disease;  most  of  all  to  be  pitied  are  those  who 
have  perished  of  exposure  or  starvation,  while  they  were 
herded  together  like  cattle  in  the  frightful  prison-pens  of  the 
South.  The  war  has  covered  the  land  with  mourning,  for 
there  is  hardly  a  house  in  which  there  has  not  been  one  dead. 
Far,  very  far,  is  it  from  being  any  consolation  for  these  losses 
and  misfortunes,  that  you  should  be  told  of  the  large  gains  of 
commerce  and  manufactures,  of  the  rich  rewards  which  in- 
dustry has  reaped,  while  this  scourge  of  God  has  been  drawing 
tears  from  every  eye.  Rather  let  this  striking  contrast  remind 
us,  that  riches  are  not  man's  highest  good,  and  that  a  sudden 
increase  of  them  may  appear  even  as  a  bitter  aggravation  and 
mockery  of  the  sorrows  which  divine  justice  has  brought  upon 
us  for  our  sins. 

And  yet  it  is  true,  that  the  people  of  the  North,  as  individ- 
uals, are  richer  now  than  they  were  at  the  opening  of  the  war. 
Not  only  has  the  industry  of  the  country  been  unimpeded ;  it 
has  been  galvanized  into  something  like  feverish  activity  ;  and 
some  providential  circumstances,  like  the  discovery  of  our 
enormous  supplies  of  petroleum  and  its  numerous  uses,  have 
favored  its  large  development.  Never  were  labor  and  enter- 
prise rewarded  with  larger  gains.  While  the  government  was 
sinking  deeply  and  rapidly  in  debt,  the  burden  of  private  in- 
debtedness, of  pecuniary  obligations  between  man  and  man, 
was  probably  never  less  than  at  the  close  of  the  contest.  The 
fluctuations  in  the  value  of  the  currency,  injurious  in  all  other 
respects,  have  had  at  least  this  one  good  result,  that  they  have 
diminished  the  length  of  credit  given  in  all  bargains  of  sale, 
and  reduced  business  very  nearly  to  what  is  called  a  cash  basis. 
Merchants  and  manufacturers  made  large  gains  through  the 
great  rise  in  the  prices  of  their  commodities  on  hand  at  the 
outbreak  of  hostilities.  The  immense  demands  of  the  govern- 
ment for  the  supply  of  the  army  and  the  creation  of  a  navy 
have  kept  our  manufactories  of  wool  and  iron  in  full  and  prof- 
itable employment,  and  stimulated  in  a  high  degree  the  mar- 


108  THE   FINANCIAL   CONDUCT    OF   THE   WAR. 

ket  for  our  agricultural  products.  The  dividends  on  bank  and 
railroad  stocks  have  been  very  high  throughout  the  war.  The 
great  demand  for  labor  has  caused  wages  to  rise  in  proportion 
at  least  to  the  increase  of  profits,  and  more  than  enough  to 
make  up  for  the  depreciation  of  the  currency.  It  is  true,  that 
one  large  class,  those  living  on  fixed  incomes,  have  suffered 
severely  from  the  rise  of  prices  caused  by  the  fall  in  the  value 
of  money,  —  a  loss,  in  their  case,  not  made  good  by  any  equiva- 
lent increase  of  income.  But  this  difficulty  was  bridged  over 
at  the  time  by  enforced  economy  on  their  part,  and,  as  a  class, 
these  persons  are  probably  now  not  much  poorer  than  they 
were  when  the  war  began.  The  whole  community  is  certainly 
much  wealthier. 

This  phenomenon  of  the  rapid  increase  of  private  wealth 
amid  all  the  losses,  anxieties,  and  sufferings  of  a  sanguinary 
and  protracted  war,  is  one  which  demands  careful  analysis  and 
study.  It  is  not  without  example ;  perhaps  we  may  say  it  is 
the  ordinary  result  of  a  state  of  war  operating  upon  a  highly 
civilized,  industrious,  and  enterprising  community,  who  have 
capital  enough  to  start  with,  and  are  so  fortunate  as  to  escape 
the  evils  of  direct  invasion.  English  commerce  and  manu- 
factures were  never  more  prosperous,  on  the  whole,  than  dur- 
ing the  long  contest  with  Xapoleon.  Even  France,  where  at 
this  period  industry  was  not  so  well  organized  nor  capital  so 
abundant,  was  probably  wealthier  in  1813  than  in  1794  ;  and 
her  impoverishment  afterwards  is  sufficiently  accounted  for  by 
the  double  invasion  and  conquest  of  her  whole  territory  in  the 
last  two  years  of  the  struggle. 

•j  OO 

From  this  rapid  glance  at  some  prominent  features  of  the 
case,  it  is  evident  that  we  in  this  country  have  much  to  learn 
from  the  financial,  as  well  as  the  political  and  military,  history 
of  the  Great  Rebellion.  It  would  be  strange  indeed,  if  the 
rich  experience  of  the  last  four  years  had  not  thrown  new  light 
upon  some  of  the  great  problems,  hitherto  imperfectly  worked 
out,  in  the  sciences  of  political  economy  and  finance.  We 
have  been  living  fast,  and  studying  in  a  terribly  severe  school. 
Let  us  try  to  bring  together  and  remember  some  of  the  les- 
sons that  we  have  learned,  with  a  view,  not  merely  to  the 
general  increase  of  knowledge,  but  to  the  immediate  direction 


THE   FINANCIAL    CONDUCT    OF    THE   WAR.  109 

of  our  future  conduct,  and  to  making  provision  for  possible 
future  emergencies.  The  wisdom  or  folly  with  which  matters 
are  conducted  at  Washington  is  henceforth  to  affect  us  more 
nearly  than  it  did  when  we  had  no  National  Debt  that  deserved 
the  name,  no  national  taxes  which  were  not  insignificant  by 
the  side  of  our  municipal  burdens,  and  no  system  of  banking 
extending  throughout  the  country,  and  yet  placed  entirely 
under  the  control  of  Congress  and  a  Secretary  of  the  Treasury 
chosen  at  bap-hazard. 

In  any  science,  when  the  phenomena  are  so  complex  and  in- 
tricate as  are  those  of  currency,  banking,  and  finance,  a  mere 
record  and  picture  of  them,  in  the  order  of  their  occurrence, 
will  be  of  no  use,  and  will  even  tend  to  create  and  perpetuate 
error  and  mischief.  The  bare  experience  of  a  banker  or  a 
capitalist  in  the  routine  of  his  business,  even  when  united  with 
much  sagacity  in  foreseeing  the  effects  upon  the  money  and 
the  stock  market  of  public  events  which  are  passing  or  near 
at  hand,  will  be  profitless  for  instruction  or  for  any  large  and 
correct  view  of  the  operation  of  these  events,  if  it  be  not 
coupled  with  knowledge  of  the  history  and  principles  of  finan- 
cial science,  and  adroitness  in  applying  these  to  the  analyzed 
results  of  current  phenomena.  Mere  experience,  as  Coleridge 
has  reminded  us,  is  like  a  lantern  in  the  stern  of  a  vessel, 
which  throws  light  only  upon  the  waves  behind  us.  Popular 
illusions  are  rife  on  the  subjects  of  money  and  finance,  and 
are  embodied  in  the  very  language  in  which  we  speak  of  the 
ordinary  transactions  of  commerce,  just  as  the  phraseology 
in  which  we  still  speak  of  the  rising  and  setting  of  the  sun, 
and  other  astronomical  phenomena,  if  taken  literally,  contra- 
dicts the  Copernican  system,  the  truth  of  which  we  all  admit. 
Owing  to  the  constant  use  of  such  language,  the  true  theory  of 
money,  when  nakedly  stated,  seems  like  a  string  of  paradoxes, 
which  are  contradicted  by  the  common  sense  of  mankind. 
Yet  the  truth  of  this  theory  is  now  so  clearly  established,  and 
the  course  of  events  in  the  commercial  world,  as  well  as  our 
recent  experience  in  war,  has  so  largely  illustrated  it,  that  its 
fundamental  principles  may  be  regarded  as  axioms,  which  no 
one  who  understands  them  thinks  of  contesting. 

It  has  been  our  fortune  during  this  four  years'  war  to  make 


110  THE   FINANCIAL   CONDUCT   OF    THE   WAR. 

quite  as  many  and  as  serious  blunders  in  the  conduct  of  the 
finances,  as  in  the  management  of  the  armies  in  the  field.  It 
would  be  idle  to  attempt  to  hide  these  errors,  or  even  to  palli- 
ate them  ;  and  fortunately  it  is  not  necessary  to  do  either. 
The  record  of  these  eventful  years  still  contains  so  much  that 
is  honorable  to  the  spirit  of  our  people  and  flattering  to  their 
pride,  that  it  needs  no  great  exercise  of  candor  on  their  part 
humbly  to  confess  every  fault  which  they  have  committed, 
either  in  civil  or  military  strategy.  If  we  have  made  mistakes, 
we  have  known  how  either  to  repair  them  or  to  triumph  in 
spite  of  them.  If  we  have  had  feeble  and  incompetent  gen- 
erals, we  have  been  able  to  get  rid  of  them,  and  to  put  men  in 
their  places  whose  just  fame  will  not  suffer  by  comparison 
with  that  of  most  of  the  great  captains  of  Europe  during  the 
last  two  centuries.  If  we  have  expended  twice  as  much 
treasure,  and  contracted  at  least  thrice  as  much  debt,  as  was 
necessary,  still  it  is  consoling  to  remember  that  the  whole  of 
this  vast  expenditure  has  been  defrayed  by  our  own  industry, 
and  that  the  power  and  the  willingness  of  the  North  to  con- 
tinue the  struggle,  if  need  be,  for  the  attainment  of  its  original 
purpose,  W7ere  seemingly  not  one  whit  less  than  they  were 
when  the  war  first  broke  out.  We  have  been  obliged  to  im- 
provise both  our  military  leaders  and  our  financial  statesmen, 
and  the  wonder  is  that  we  have  succeeded  so  well. 

It  is  an  important  maxim,  that  what  is  theoretically  best  as 
a  measure  of  finance  is  not  always  politically  expedient.  The 
problem  to  be  solved  by  the  Secretary  of  the  Treasury  and  his 
supporters  in  Congress  was  not  exclusively  financial ;  they  had 
not  to  ask  themselves  merely  how  this  fearful  and  protracted 
civil  war  could  be  carried  through  with  the  least  possible  ex- 
penditure of  treasure,  with  the  smallest  interruption  of  the 
nation's  industry,  and  with  the  entailment  of  as  lio-lit  a  burden 

«/    '  O 

as  possible  on  posterity.  If  to  find  an  answer  to  that  question 
had  been  their  only  duty,  we  know  not  that  any  severity  of 
censure  of  their  proceedings  would  be  unfair  or  misplaced. 
But  they  had  to  look  farther.  They  had  to  consider  a  divi- 
sion of  opinion,  a  separation  of  parties,  even  at  the  North,  and 
to  ask  themselves  whether  the  whole  cause,  the  cause  of  Union 
and  of  the  freedom  of  every  human  beiner  born  on  American 


THE   FINANCIAL   CONDUCT   OF   THE   WAR.  Ill 

ground,  might  not  be  imperilled  by  the  institution  at  once  of 
those  vigorous  measures  of  finance  which  the  magnitude  of  the 
occasion  so  loudly  demanded.  As  politicans,  and  especially  as 
party  politicians,  it  is  now  easy  to  perceive  that  they  overes- 
timated this  danger,  and  that  they  did  not  do  justice  to  the 
ardor  and  unanimity  of  the  whole  people  in  their  attachment 
to  the  Union,  and  in  their  resolution  to  do  and  endure  all 
rather  than  submit  to  its  dismemberment.  But  standing 
where  they  did,  and  with  the  training  which  they  had  recently 
had  in  party  conflicts,  we  cannot  blame  them  for  keeping  this 
peril  in  view,  though  we  can  now  see  plainly  that  they  were 
timid  politicians  and  incompetent  financiers. 

This  political  faint-heartedness  is  all  that  can  be  alleged  to 
palliate  —  we  do  not  say  to  excuse — the  first  great  blunder 
in  the  financial  management  of  the  war.  Congress,  which 
assembled  in  extra  session  in  the  summer  of  1861,  a  few 
months  after  the  outbreak  of  the  rebellion,  failed  to  take  any 
adequate  measures  to  support  by  taxation  the  national  credit, 
though  it  was  now  apparent  to  all  that  immediately,  and  for  a 
long  time  to  come,  this  credit  was  to  be  strained  to  the  utmost. 
The  wants  of  the  Treasury  were  immense,  and  were  pressing 
at  the  very  moment.  An  army  of  half  a  million  men  was 
rapidly  assembling,  and  all  its  wants  were  to  be  provided  for  ; 
a  navy  was  not  merely  to  be  fitted  out,  but  to  be  created  ;  all 
the  munitions  for  war  on  the  largest  scale  were  to  be  furnished. 
The  spirit  of  the  nation  was  high  ;  in  the  whole  history  of  the 
world,  excepting  perhaps  the  first  outbreak  of  the  great  French 
Revolution,  no  parallel  can  be  found  to  the  wave  of  enthusiasm 
which  overspread  the  North  after  the  attack  on  Fort  Sumter, 
and  which  has  been  aptly  called  "  the  awakening  of  a  great 
people."  This  enthusiasm  was  shared  as  fully  by  the  rich  as 
by  the  poor,  as  was  manifested  by  the  munificence  of  private 
gifts  in  aid  of  enrolling  and  caring  for  the  soldiers.  Heavy 
taxes  imposed  at  once  would  have  been  received  with  acclama- 
tion, and  paid  with  alacrity,  for  the  country  was  rich  as  well 
as  willing.  The  action  of  Congress  alone  in  all  financial  meas- 
ures, though  not  in  military  affairs,  was  feeble  and  inefficient ; 
and  great  blame  must  also  be  laid  on  the  Treasury  department, 
for  it  does  not  appear  that  vigorous  action  was  even  counselled 


112  THE   FINANCIAL   CONDUCT    OF   THE   WAR. 

by  its  head,  since  nearly  all  that  he  did  recommend,  we  be- 
lieve, was  actually  enacted  into  law.  Except  some  insignifi- 
cant modifications  of  the  tariff,  a  direct  tax  of  820,000,000, 
imposed  on  the  States,  and  an  income  tax  of  only  three  per 
cent.,  both  to  be  assessed  and  paid  only  after  the  lapse  of  a 
year,  were  the  only  measures  adopted  to  raise  money  except 
by  loans. 

Prospective  taxes !  Taxes  to  be  levied  a  year  ahead,  and 
then  but  to  an  insignificant  amount,  as  the  only  means  of  sup- 
porting an  army  of  half  a  million,  when  the  enemy  were  al- 
ready thundering  at  the  gates  of  the  Capitol,  and  when  it  was 
feared  that  neither  Washington  nor  Baltimore  could  be  de- 
fended against  them  !  Why,  after  the  first  battle  of  Bull  Run, 
which  took  place  before  the  passage  of  this  tax  bill,  it  ap- 
peared doubtful  to  many  persons  whether,  a  year  hence,  there 
would  be  any  United  States  in  which  these  imposts  could  be 
collected.  Capitalists  do  not  relish  such  postponed  and  con- 
tingent security  for  their  money.  Congress  seemed  aware  of 
this  fact,  and  was  thereby  induced,  in  the  bill  for  borrowing 
money,  to  commit  its  second  great  financial  blunder,  by  insti- 
tuting a  system  of  short  loans,  which,  by  maturing  before 
there  was  any  reasonable  prospect  that  the  war  would  be  over, 
only  enhanced  the  much  greater  difficulties  of  the  Treasury  at 
a  later  period. 

The  effect  on  the  credit  of  the  government  of  this  feeble 
action  of  Congress  was  immediately  apparent.  The  loan  of 
two  hundred  millions  was  negotiated  only  with  great  difficulty 
at  over  seven  per  cent.,  though  the  five  per  cent,  bonds  of  the 
single  State  of  Massachusetts  were  even  then  above  par,  and 
though  the  national  government  had  borrowed  money  recently 
with  ease  at  six  per  cent.  In  fact,  this  loan  could  not  have 
been  negotiated  at  all,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  patriotism 
of  the  State  banks,  which  reflected  and  carried  out  the  en- 
thusiasm of  the  people.  One  effect  of  the  subsequent  depres- 
sion of  the  public  mind  caused  by  this  low  state  of  national 
credit,  and  enhanced  by  the  unaccountable  sloth  and  inac- 
tivity of  McClellan  at  the  head  of  his  noble  army,  even  after 
the  insults  received  at  Ball's  Bluff  and  by  the  blockade  of 
the  Potomac,  was  the  aggravation  of  commercial  difficulties, 


THE   FINANCIAL    CONDUCT   OF   THE    WAR.  113 

which  compelled  the  banks  to  suspend  specie  payments  late  in 
December,  1861.  Congress  accepted  this  act  as  a  national 
necessity,  and  by  a  law  passed  the  next  February,  authorized 
the  Treasury  also  to  stop  payment  in  coin,  and  to  issue  one 
hundred  and  fifty  millions  of  dollars  in  paper  currency. 

Here,  we  are  compelled  to  differ  in  opinion  from  those  who 
censure  this  law  both  as  a  blunder  and  a  crime,  and  attribute 
to  it  all  our  subsequent  financial  difficulties.  We  maintain 
that,  under  the  circumstances,  it  was  unavoidable ;  and  if 
proper  measures  had  been  afterwards  adopted,  especially  if  the 
due  limit  had  been  observed  in  the  issue  of  government  notes 
to  take  the  place  of  the  specie  which  had  disappeared  from 
circulation,  there  would  have  been  no  further  shock  to  public 
credit,  no  injurious  depreciation  of  the  currency,  no  breach  of 
faith,  and  that  the  act  would  even  have  tended  to  increase  the 
national  strength.  The  suspension,  if  wisely  managed,  might 
have  continued  as  long  as  that  of  the  Bank  of  England  at  the 
close  of  the  last  century,  which  lasted  over  twenty  years,  and 
during  the  first  seven  or  eight  of  those  years  did  not  cause  the 
currency  to  depreciate  more  than  six  or  seven  per  cent.  Cer- 
tainly the  immediate  effect  of  the  act  of  February  25,  1862, 
was  to  release  about  two  hundred  and  fifty  millions  in  specie 
from  its  employment  as  money,  for  which  purpose  it  had  be- 
come useless,  to  convert  it  into  a  commodity  exchangeable  for 
goods  from  abroad,  and  to  give  the  government  the  benefit  of 
a  free  loan,  without  interest,  of  this  large  sum,  by  merely  issu- 
ing its  own  notes  in  place  of  the  coin  so  withdrawn.  These 
notes,  if  not  issued  in  excess,  would  not  have  depreciated  ex- 
cept to  a  trilling  extent  of  four  or  five  per  cent.,  or  not  enough 
to  cause  any  perceptible  loss  or  embarrassment  in  trade  ; 
actually  they  did  not  so  depreciate  for  about  five  months,  as 
gold  did  not  rise  to  as  high  a  premium  as  five  per  cent,  till  the 
next  June,  though  the  banks  had  suspended  in  December. 
Still  further,  the  State  banks,  by  originating  the  suspension 
two  months  before  Congress  followed  their  example,  had  for- 
feited every  shadow  of  a  claim  to  be  permitted  still  to  use 
their  own  notes  as  currency  ;  they  had  thereby  converted  their 
circulation  into  true  "  bills  of  credit/'  or  paper  money,  which 
the  Constitution  expressly  prohibits  any  "  State  ''  or  State  in- 

8 


114  THE   FINANCIAL   CONDUCT    OF   THE   WAR. 

stitution  from  emitting  ;  while  this  express  prohibition,  through 
what  the  lawyers  call  a  negative  pregnant,  impliedly  authorizes 
Congress  to  emit  such  money,  even  if  it  does  not  expressly 
authorize  it  to  do  so  by  granting  to  this  body  a  power  to 
"  regulate  the  value  "  of  money.  It  would  have  been  strictly 
just,  therefore,  as  it  surely  was  highly  expedient,  to  put  a 
prohibitory  tax  upon  the  circulation  of  the  suspended  State 
banks,  thereby  driving  it  out  of  use  altogether,  and  so  creat- 
ing another  vacuum  in  the  currency,  to  the  extent  of  at  least 
a  hundred  and  fifty  millions,  which  Congress  might  fill  by  an 
additional  issue  to  that  amount  of  national  paper  currency  not 
liable  to  depreciation.  The  whole  profit  derivable  from  the 
issue  of  currency  belongs  of  right  to  the  people  in  their  collec- 
tive capacity  :  and  in  the  great  struggle  for  national  existence 
which  was  then  pending,  it  was  strictly  equitable  for  the 
nation  to  exercise  this  right,  so  far  as  it  could  do  so  without 
injuring  the  rights  of  individuals  by  compelling  them  to  use 
paper  money  which  would  depreciate  or  oscillate  in  value. 
Nothing  can  be  more  certain  than  that,  by  driving  coin  and 
bank-notes  out  of  circulation,  Congress  might  have  gained  for 
the  country,  in  its  sore  need,  the  free  use  of  at  least  four  hun- 
dred millions  of  dollars,  for  an  indefinite  period,  without  inter- 
est, without  injury  to  the  national  credit,  and  without  discount- 
ing the  resources  of  the  future. 

But  what  did  Congress  and  the  Treasury  actually  do  ?  In 
the  first  place,  they  let  alone  the  dishonored  State  bank  circu- 
lation, making  no  attempt  to  displace  it,  or  even  to  force  it 
(except  some  time  afterwards,  and  to  a  very  moderate  extent) 
to  contribute  to  the  nation's  necessities.  Secondly,  in  defiance 
of  one  of  the  plainest  principles  of  financial  science,  —  a  truth 
verified  a  hundred  times  by  experience,  and  recognized  by 
every  banker,  political  economist,  or  statesman  who  has  writ- 
ten or  thought  upon  the  subject  for  at  least  a  century,  —  they 
proceeded  to  issue  their  own  currency  in  lavish  excess,  in  seem- 
ing ignorance  of  the  fact  that  it  would  depreciate,  or  of  the 
lamentable  consequences  that  would  follow  such  depreciation. 
They  seem  to  have  reasoned  by  induction,  thus:  AVe  have 
issued  two  hundred  and  fifty  millions  of  this  money,  and  no 
harm  has  ensued  ;  therefore  we  can  safely  continue  the  issue 
to  the  extent  of  a  thousand  millions. 


THE   FINANCIAL    CONDUCT    OF   THE   WAR.  115 


t,  ouSe  icracriv  ocrta  rrAeov  fj/j-icrv 

For  a  clear  and  forcible  statement  of  the  truth  which  they 
ignorantly  or  wilfully  disregarded,  we  will  not  quote  any  of 
the  acknowledged  lights  of  modern  financial  science,  from 
Adam  Smith  down  to  Ricardo  and  J.  S.  Mill,  though  they  all 
agree  upon  the  point,  merely  because  we  have  an  American 
authority  at  hand  which  answers  the  purpose  better.  Nearly 
eighty-five  years  ago,  John  Adams,  looking  at  the  sad  results 
of  the  old  Continental  currency,  which  were  soon  to  produce  a 
dangerous  rebellion  even  here  in  Massachusetts,  wrote  thus  to 
the  Count  de  Vergennes  :  — 

"  The  amount  of  ordinary  commerce,  external  and  internal,  of  a 
society,  may  be  computed  at  a  fixed  sum.  A  certain  sum  of  money  is 
necessary  to  circulate  among  the  society  in  order  to  carry  on  their 
business.  This  precise  sum  is  discoverable  by  calculation  and  reduci- 
ble to  certainty.  You  may  emit  paper  or  any  other  currency  for  this 
purpose  until  you  reach  this  rule,  and  it  will  not  depreciate.  After 
you  exceed  this  rule,  it  will  depreciate  ;  and  no  power  or  act  of  legis- 
lation hitherto  invented  can  prevent  it.  In  the  case  of  paper,  if  you 
go  on  emitting  forever,  the  whole  mass  will  be  worth  no  more  than 
that  was  which  was  emitted  within  the  rule."  —  J.  Adams's  Works, 
Vol.  VII.  p.  195. 

The  precise  deficit  in  this  fixed  sum  caused  by  driving  the 
specie  out  of  circulation  was  perfectly  well  known  not  to  ex- 
ceed, at  the  utmost,  two  hundred  and  fifty  millions  of  dollars. 
Yet  the  Treasury,  acting  under  the  discretionary  powers  which 
it  had  received  from  Congress,  issued  between  March,  1862, 
and  September  80,  1804,  the  enormous  sum,  in  round  num- 
bers, of  seven  hundred  and  thirty-two  millions  of  legal  tender 
paper  currency.  This  sum  consisted  (round  numbers  again) 
of  four  hundred  and  thirty-three  millions  of  "greenbacks  "  or 
government  currency  proper,  two  hundred  and  twenty-nine 
millions  of  legal-tender  Treasury  notes  on  interest,  twenty-five 
millions  of  fractional  currency,  and  forty-five  millions  of  na- 
tional bank  circulation.  Of  course,  depreciation  followed  ; 
and  it  is  curious  to  observe  how  precisely  the  ratio  of  this 
depreciation  conformed  to  the  law  as  stated  by  Mr.  Adams. 
The  specie  displaced  was  to  the  whole  sum  of  paper  issued,  as 
we  have  seen,  very  nearly  as  one  to  three  ;  and  the  price  of  a 


116  THE   FINANCIAL   CONDUCT   OF   THE   WAR. 

gold  dollar,  in  July  and  August,  1864,  rose  to  82.80  in  paper. 
The  currency  was  put  forth  at  intervals,  and  in  successively 
increasing  amounts,  during  two  years  and  a  half ;  and  the 
price  of  gold  taken  at  different  times  during  this  period  in- 
dicated very  accurately  how  much  of  this  currency  had  then 
come  into  use.  Thus  the  premium  on  gold,  which  had  been 
trifling  up  to  June,  1862,  rose  from  twenty  to  thirty  per  cent, 
before  the  next  October.  From  this  time  forward  it  fluctuated 
greatly,  but  with  a  general  progress  upward,  till  it  reached  80 
in  May,  1864  ;  and  then,  large  amounts  being  issued  suddenly 
to  provide  the  immense  supplies  needed  for  the  great  campaign 
about  to  open,  it  mounted  swiftly  and  with  wild  oscillations  to 
185  in  July  and  August.  In  other  words,  in  those  months, 
82.85  in  paper  were  needed  to  buy  either  one  dollar  in  gold  or 
any  commodities  which  that  single  gold  dollar  could  purchase. 

Of  course,  this  voluntary  depreciation  of  the  currency  was 
a  breach  of  public  faith,  and  an  avowal  both  of  private  and 
public  bankruptcy.  The  act  which  sanctioned  it  authorized 
every  debtor  in  the  community,  and  the  government,  which 
was  the  greatest  debtor  of  all,  to  diminish  every  obligation  to 
pay  money  as  much  as  the  depreciation  of  the  currency  had  in- 
creased during  the  interval  between  giving  that  obligation  and 
its  coming  to  maturity.  Any  person  who,  in  return  for  goods 
purchased,  gave  a  note  at  six  months  from  February,  1864,  for 
one  thousand  dollars,  each  dollar  being  then  worth  sixty-three 
cents  in  coin,  would  pay  it  the  next  August  with  one  thousand 
dollars  worth  only  thirty-nine  cents  each  ;  that  is,  for  six  hun- 
dred and  thirty  dollars  received,  he  repaid  only  three  hundred 
and  ninety  dollars,  or  less  than  sixty-two  per  cent.  But  cred- 
itors are  not  always  the  losers  ;  as  the  depreciation  of  the  cur- 
rency, when  excessive,  is  subject  to  violent  and  sudden  oscilla- 
tions, it  may  happen  that  one  who  has  contracted  a  debt  when 
dollars  are  worth  only  forty  cents  each,  is  obliged  to  pay  it 
when  they  have  risen  in  value  to  sixty  cents.  In  such  case,  all 
trade,  beyond  immediate  cash  transactions  or  mere  barter,  be- 
comes a  lottery,  commerce  is  crippled  and  demoralized,  and  all 
faith  in  contracts  is  shaken. 

But  the  government  is  far  the  greatest  loser  in  the  affair  ; 
and  rightfully  so.  for  it  has  not  only  broken  its  own  faith,  but 


THE    FINANCIAL    CONDUCT    OF    THE   WAR.  Ill 

obliged  other  people  to  break  theirs.  To  adopt  Talleyrand's 
witty  remark,  which  compresses  into  a  nutshell  the  wisdom 
that  is  of  this  world,  the  act  of  the  Treasury  which  produced 
this  depreciation  was  worse  than  a  crime  ;  it  was  a  blunder. 
As  its  necessities  were  great,  and  its  breach  of  faith  had  been 
flagrant,  it  had  voluntarily  ruined  its  own  credit,  and  could 
expect  to  be  able  to  borrow  only  by  offering  the  most  usurious 
rates  of  interest.  Accordingly,  in  the  very  acts  which  au- 
thorized the  excessive  issues  of  currency,  Congress  was  obliged 
to  stipulate  that  the  interest  —  and  by  necessary  implication 
the  principal  also  —  should  be  paid  in  coin.  Accordingly,  dur- 
ing the  last  twelve  months,  the  depreciation  being  on  an 
average  two  for  one,  the  government  has  been  borrowing 
enormous  sums  on  the  hard  terms  of  covenanting  to  return 
two  dollars  for  every  one  received,  and  of  paying  meanwhile 
ten  or  twelve  per  cent,  interest.  Of  course,  the  public  debt  has 
accumulated  during  this  period  with  frightful  rapidity.  To 
offer  a  still  greater  inducement  for  capitalists  to  take  up  the 
loans,  it  is  further  covenanted  that  the  national  stocks  shall 
forever  be  free  from  either  municipal,  State,  or  national  taxa- 
tion ;  thus  adding  at  least  two  per  cent,  to  the  already  excessive 
rate  of  interest,  and  making  a  serious  inroad  upon  the  future 
capacities  of  the  country  to  sustain  the  annual  charge  of  the 
debt  and  reimburse  the  principal. 


THE   UTILITY   AND   THE    LIMITATIONS    OF   THE 
SCIENCE   OF   POLITICAL  ECONOMY. 

FROM    THE    CHRISTIAN    EXAMINER   FOR    MARCH,    1838. 

"  THE  '  Treatise  on  the  Law  of  War  and  Peace,'  the  '  Spirit 
of  Laws,'  the  '  Essay  on  Human  Understanding,'  and  the  '  In- 
quiry into  the  Causes  of  the  Wealth  of  Nations,'  are  the  works 
which  have  most  directly  influenced  the  general  opinions  of 
Europe  during  the  two  last  centuries."  Of  the  four  works 
thus  distinguished  by  so  competent  a  judge  as  Sir  James  Mack- 
intosh, the  last  is  the  most  practical,  and  has  most  directly 
affected  the  course  of  legislation  and  the  policy  of  governments 
in  civilized  Europe.  We  do  not  deny  that  similar  changes 
and  improvements  would  have  been  effected  if  Adam  Smith 
had  never  lived.  His  work  was  the  production  of  the  age, 
and  not  of  the  individual,  in  the  same  way  that  the  revival  of 
letters,  not  the  mere  ingenuity  of  a  German  mechanic,  caused 
the  invention  of  the  art  of  printing.  The  increased  extent 
and  importance  of  commercial  enterprises  in  the  eighteenth 
century,  and  the  manner  in  which  the  attention  of  rulers  at 
the  same  period  was  turned  from  disputes  with  each  other,  and 
devoted  to  nursing  the  prosperity  of  the  communities  over 
which  they  presided,  created  a  demand  for  the  discovery  of 
true  principles  in  Economical  science.  Vague  suspicions  were 
excited,  that  all  was  not  right,  —  that  there  was  some  mistake 
in  the  well-meant  efforts  of  government ;  loose  notions  of  more 
correct  theories  were  floating  about,  which  Adam  Smith  em- 
bodied and  published  in  a  systematic  form,  at  a  period  so  near 
the  time  when  they  were  promulgated  by  others,  as  to  give 
some  cause,  though  an  inadequate  one,  to  dispute  the  priority 
of  his  discovery.  That  the  minds  of  men  were  prepared  for 
such  a  change  of  opinions,  was  shown  by  the  eagerness  and 


THE   SCIENCE    OF   POLITICAL   ECONOMY.  119 

favor  with  which  the  publication  was  received.  No  work  has 
been  more  successful  in  gaining  the  immediate  approbation  of 
all  persons  whom  private  interests  did  not  induce  to  maintain 
an  opposite  theory. 

Still,  the   science   founded  on  this  remarkable  treatise  has 
exerted  only  partial  influence  on  the  policy  of  states,  and  prac- 
tical statesmen,  as  they  are  styled,  have  impugned  its  leading 
principles  with  an  earnestness  and  apparent  sincerity  for  which 
we    can   hardly  account.      Whence   comes   this    difference    of 
opinions  ?     Why  have  legislators  yielded  a  theoretical  assent 
to  doctrines   which,  in  many  instances,  they  have  refused  to 
reduce  to  practice  ?     The  frequent  opposition  between  a  specu- 
lative and  a  practical  judgment  will  hardly  explain  the  prob- 
lem ;  for  those  cannot  be  termed  theoretical  truths,  which  are 
immediately  concerned  with  the  daily  pursuits,  and  affect  the 
most  familiar  interests  of   mankind.     They  do  not  belong  to 
the  class  of  doctrines  which  are  usually  contested  between  theo- 
rists and  practical  men.     Founded  on  inductive  reasoning  from 
the  most  obvious  facts,  and  confirmed  by  remarkable  success 
in  the  experiments  that  have  been  tried,  they  are  supported 
by  a  large  number  of  persons  most  familiar  with  the  routine 
of  business  and  the  minute  details  of  legislation.     Most  of  the 
important  laws  affecting  the   commercial  and  manufacturing 
interests  of  Great  Britain,  enacted  during  the  past  thirty  years, 
have  been  founded  on  the  principles  of  this  science,  and  sup- 
ported in  Parliament  on  this  ground.     Mr.  Huskisson's  regu- 
lations of  the  silk  trade,  the  recent  improvement  of  the  poor 
laws,  the  change  effected  in  the  charter  of  the  East  India  Com- 
pany, are  notorious  proofs  of  this  assertion.      Yet  we  meet  with 
men  grown  gray  in  politics  and  legislation,  who  emphatically 
term  the  science  of  Political  Economy  a  humbug,  and  its  par- 
tisans a  set  of  visionary  schemers  and  theorists.     The  reputa- 
tion of  these  men  for  talent  and  sincerity  is  too  high  and  too 
well  attested  to  admit  of  their  being  assailed  in  either  respect. 
To  say  that  they  are  committed   to  an   opposite  policy  is  to 
doubt  their  honesty  ;  and  to  affirm  that  their  private  interests 
effectually  blind  them  to  the  perception  of  truth,  is  to  question 
their  superiority  of  intellect.     We  do  neither.     Therefore  the 
prejudice  which  they  have  conceived  appears  unaccountable 
at  first  siirht. 


120  THE   UTILITY   AND    THE   LIMITATIONS   OF 

We  believe  that  both  the  doctrinaires  of  Political  Economy 
and  their  opponents  are  in  the  wrong  ;  the  former  in  reducing 
their  principles  to  practice  with  too  little  regard  to  attendant 
and  qualifying   circumstances,    the    latter    in   questioning  the 
truth  of  the  principles  themselves.     The  nature  and  objects  of 
the  science  are  not  fully  understood.     The  principles  which  it 
embraces  are  very  general  in  relation  to  the  objects  to  which 
they  apply  ;  but  this  generality  is  obtained  by  the  abstraction 
of  those  minute  points  of  difference  which,  in  the  application  of 
the  truths,  must  again  be  taken  into  view.     The  propositions 
are  founded  on  facts  only  less  numerous  than  the  various  hab- 
its,  dispositions,   and  circumstances   of  men.     The  ease  with 
which  common  people  reason  correctly  upon  these  facts  does 
not  prove  that  an  extended  and  minute  observation  of  them  is 
unnecessary.     It  only  shows  their  obviousness,  —  that  we  ob- 
serve them  unconsciously,  and  whether  we  will  or  no.     We 
admit  the  Economist's  premises,  then,  and  assent  to  the  cor- 
rectness of  his  argument,  but  doubt  the  conclusion,  because  it 
seems  impracticable  as  a  rule.     Make  the  proper  allowances 
for  the  former  omissions,  qualify  the  application  of  the  general 
result,  and  the  apparent  impracticability  disappears.     The  case 
is  similar  with  the  theory  of  mechanics.     The  mathematician 
considers  levers  as  straight  lines  without  breadth  or  thickness, 
ropes  as  perfectly  flexible,  and  disregards  friction  altogether  ; 
thus  he  arrives  at  the  most  comprehensive  and  demonstrable 
conclusions.     It  would  be  very  absurd  in  him  to  insist  on  the 
unqualified  correctness  of  these  results,  and  no  less  absurd  in 
the  practical  mechanic  to  neglect  entirely  these  general  truths, 
and  go  blindly  onward,  feeling  his  way  by  practice  and  experi- 
ment.    Yet  the  Political  Economist  who  harshly  insists  on  the 
immediate  adoption  of  his  principles,  and  the  practical  legisla- 
tor who  ridicules  the  whole  science,  commit  an  equal  mistake. 
In   argument,  indeed,  both   may  admit  that  the  truth   of   the 
matter  is   as  we  have  stated.     Practically  they  both  deny  it. 
General  maxims,  it  is  true,  must  be  applied  with  a  cautious 
regard  to  the  circumstances  of  each  case  ;  but  this  admission 
does  not  affect  the  universal  truth  and  practical   importance 
of  the  maxims  themselves.      The  truths  are  as  comprehensive 
and  unqualified  as  they  appear  to  be  in  the  statement.     The 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   POLITICAL  ECONOMY.  121 

exceptions  are  so  few  in  number  that  they  admit  of  being 
enumerated  and  defined  with  the  utmost  precision.  But  the 
difficulty  consists  in  ascertaining  the  proper  scope  of  the  prin- 
ciple, and  the  real  character  of  the  case  which  is  proposed 
to  be  governed  by  it.  Different  sets  of  problems  require  dif- 
ferent methods  of  solution  ;  the  incorrectness  of  the  result  is 
often  attributable  to  an  improper  classification  of  the  question, 
by  which  we  have  been  led  to  use  a  rule  that  was  wholly  in- 
applicable. 

Writers  on  Political  Economy  are  unconsciously  influenced 
by  a  regard  to  the  situation  of  their  own  country,  the  circum- 
stances of  its  inhabitants,  and  the  particular  policy  of  its  rulers. 
Their  labors  are,  on  this  account,  more  useful  to  their  own 
countrymen  than  they  would  have  been  if  the  generalization 
had  been  more  extensive.     But  they  deceive  themselves  when 
they  insist  on  the  universal  application  of  the  maxims.    Thus, 
the  opinions  of  British  writers  on  the  corn  trade  are  biassed  by 
the  insular  position  of  England,  and  its  limited  extent  of  ter- 
ritory.    The  power  of  supplying  themselves  at  will  with  grain 
from  the  Continent  depends  on  their  political  relations  with 
the  other  governments  of  Europe.     The  caution  which  they 
evince  in  advocating  restrictions  upon  importation,  and  encour- 
aging to  the  utmost  the  cultivation  of  corn  within  the  king- 
dom,  is  the  well-grounded  result  of  close  attention  to   their 
peculiar  position  as  a  people.     They  deceive  themselves,  and 
others   are  deceived  by  them,  who  would   make  this  caution 
universal,  and  place  any  other  duties  on  foreign  grain  than 
those  required  to  aid  the  national  revenue.     Again,  the  opin- 
ions of  Mr.  Malthus  on  population  lead  to  certain  conclusions 
respecting  the  policy  of  the  poor  laws  in  England.     But  these 
conclusions  are  not  the  less  derived,  in  part,  from  a  regard  to 
the  crowded  population  of   the  British  empire,  the  immense 
number  of  those   who   seek   charitable   relief,  and  the    entire 
absence  among  them  of  those  feelings  of  pride  and  delicacy 
which  compel  the  poor  of  many  countries  to  endure  the  utmost 
suffering  before  they  consent  to  throw  themselves  on  the  pub- 
lic.     Obtaining  aid  from  the  parish  is  too  common  an  occur- 
rence among  English  laborers  to  admit  the  feeling  of  shame  in 
such  a  case  to  control  their  actions.     In  this  country,  we  are 


122  THE   UTILITY   AND    THE   LIMITATIONS   OF 

not  obliged  to  render  life  in  an  almshouse  more  irksome  and 
uncomfortable  than  it  need  be,  through  fear  that  it  may  be- 
come a  favorite  place  of  abode  for  the  suffering  poor.  Unless 
we  see  fit  to  do  so  on  other  grounds,  we  may  refuse  to  alter  our 
poor  laws,  without  rejecting  the  theory  on  which  Mai  thus  rests 
his  proposed  amendments.  We  may  admit  the  principle,  but 
in  our  own  case  deny  the  application. 

These  remarks  may  throw  some  light  on  a  question  which 
appears  to  be  of  no  small  importance,  —  the  propriety  of  com- 
bining an  accurate  and  extended  knowledge  of  statistics  with 
the  study  of  Political  Economy.  A\friters  on  the  science  have 
objected  to  the  practice  of  founding  conclusions  on  facts  alone, 
on  the  ground  that  our  acquaintance  \vith  facts  must  necessa- 
rily be  partial  and  imperfect.  At  the  utmost,  statistical  ac- 
counts are  true  only  for  the  time  being,  and  principles  deduced 
from  them  are  falsified  by  every  subsequent  change.  Again,  a 
knowledge  of  all  the  facts  in  each  case  might  lead  us  to  adopt 
a  policy  the  very  opposite  from  that  which  would  appear  to 
be  recommended  by  a  partial  consideration  of  circumstances. 
The  prosperity  of  a  country  may  be  brought  to  prove  the  cor- 
rectness of  its  system  of  legislation,  when  this  very  prosperity 
may  exist  in  spite  of  the  political  measures,  rather  than  in  con- 
sequence of  them.  The  excess  of  imports  over  exports  is  ad- 
duced by  one  set  of  reasoners  to  demonstrate  that  the  country 
is  running  in  debt ;  while  others  hold  that  the  foreign  com- 
merce has  been  remarkably  successful,  —  the  returns  so  far 
exceeding  the  outfits.  A  general  enhancement  of  prices  may 
seem  to  evince  the  national  welfare  ;  but  if  it  arises  from  the 
depreciation  of  the  currency,  it  rather  betokens  national  decay. 
These  examples  show  the  facility  with  which  any  principle 
may  be  made  out  by  means  of  what  Adam  Smith  has  styled 
political  arithmetic,  and  they  justify  the  cautiousness  of  this 
writer  against  such  a  suspicious  medium  of  proof. 

But  do  we  infer  that  facts  are  useless  in  Political  Economy  ? 
By  no  means.  The  office  of  the  Economist  is  to  interpret 
facts,  —  not  to  prophecy  what  must  be,  but  to  explain  what  is. 
Statistical  returns  are  thus  the  object  of  the  science,  though  it 
is  unsafe  to  consider  them  as  the  data,  from  which  the  original 
principles  are  derived.  Instead  of  creating  the  rule,  they  gov- 


THE   SCIENCE    OF   POLITICAL    ECONOMY.  123 

ern  its  application.  For  instance,  the  peculiar  situation  of  our 
own  land  is  sufficient  to  qualify  materially  the  force  of  the 
general  maxims  established  by  European  writers.  The  mere 
fact  that  the  ocean  rolls  between  us  and  Europe,  and  the  con- 
sequent delays  and  expenses  of  transportation,  must  influence 
our  theories  of  foreign  commerce,  and  restrict  the  reasoning 
heretofore  applied  to  a  system  of  import  duties.  We  want  an 
American  treatise  of  Political  Economy,  one  that  shall  con- 
tain not  merely  the  higher  truths  that  are  strictly  universal, 
and  which  no  circumstances  can  limit  or  disprove,  but  the  less 
general  maxims  founded  on  those  of  the  first  class,  and  on  a 
careful  observation  of  facts,  that  may  form  a  text-book  for  leg- 
islators and  statesmen.  We  want  a  work  which  shall  bear 
the  same  relation  to  American  institutions  that  the  writings  of 
Malthus  and  Ricardo  do  to  those  of  England.  We  are  yet  a 
new  people,  and,  during  the  past  fifty  years,  the  vacillating 
legislation  of  the  country  on  the  subjects  of  foreign  commerce, 
domestic  manufactures,  and  the  currency,  betrays  an  ignorance 
of  our  own  vital  interests,  which  shames  alike  the  rulers  and 
the  governed.  It  is  time  to  secure  that  advantage,  at  least, 
which  may  be  gained  by  undeviating  adherence  to  one  general 
policy,  though  the  system  selected  be  neither  the  wisest  in  the 
abstract,  nor  the  best  adapted  to  our  peculiar  condition.  Un- 
fortunately, the  conflict  of  interests  between  the  States  pro- 
duces a  heated  discussion  of  questions  relating  to  commercial 
and  manufacturing  policy,  and  the  issue  is  too  often  decided 
at  length  on  party  grounds.  This  evil  is  irremediable  in  part ; 
but  the  habit  of  general  reasoning  must  tend  to  soften  the 
acerbity  of  debate,  and  repress  the  more  absurd  declarations  of 
extravagant  theories,  to  which  men  are  driven  in  the  warmth 
of  contest.  It  is  full  time  that  the  higher  subjects  of  legisla- 
tion should  be  handled  not  merely  by  politicians,  but  by  spec- 
ulative men  —  we  are  not  afraid  of  the  epithet  —  who,  sepa- 
rated from  the  din  of  parties,  may  propose  and  advocate  meas- 
ures on  more  substantial  grounds  than  those  of  compromise 
and  temporary  expediency.  It  is  possible,  at  least,  for  one  to 
argue  upon  such  themes,  who  has  no  views  of  political  advance- 
ment, and  no  wish  to  decry  the  Bank  or  defame  President  Van 
Buren. 


124  THE    UTILITY   AND    THE    LIMITATIONS    OF 

But  if  this  end  is  ever  to  be  attained,  if  Economical  ques- 
tions are  ever  to  be  viewed  in  any  other  light  than  in  their  re- 
lation to  the  schemes  of  party,  greater  attention  must  be  paid 
to  the  collection  and  publication  of  facts.  The  science  of  sta- 
tistics has  hardly  an  existence  in  this  country.  The  returns 
that  are  made  by  the  Treasury 'department  of  the  national 
government  are  meagre  beyond  description,  and  are  published 
in  the  most  ill-digested  state.  Immense  labor  must  be  ex- 
pended to  work  them  up  into  such  a  form  that  they  may  elu- 
cidate the  condition  of  the  country  and  the  policy  of  its  laws. 
Mistaken  reasoning  upon  facts  proceeds  from  imperfect  percep- 
tion of  their  mutual  bearing,  and  from  partial  views.  These 
evils  can  be  remedied  only  by  completeness  in  the  returns,  and 
by  such  scientific  arrangements  as  may  develop  at  once  the 
real  nature  of  the  circumstances.  A  mere  account  of  the  vari- 
ation of  prices  in  the  different  markets  of  our  extensive  terri- 
tory, and  at  different  periods  of  time,  must  throw  great  light 
on  the  circumstances  that  affect  production,  and  on  the  proper 
modes  of  regulating  commerce. 

Great  caution  would  still  be  necessary  in  digesting  theories 
and  forming  plans  with  exclusive  regard  to  such  statistical  col- 
lections. The  higher  principles  of  Political  Economy,  from 
their  obviousness  and  universality  of  operation,  are  in  truth 
general  facts,  and  reasoning  founded  upon  them  is  eminently 
practical.  They  are  deduced  from  common  observation,  and 
lie  so  closely  within  the  sphere  of  experience  as  to  appear  trite 
in  the  enunciation.  That  competition  will  ordinarily  produce 
equality  of  profits  in  the  several  employments  of  industry  and 
capital,  that  a  private  person  can  manage  his  own  business 
better  than  government  can  manage  it  for  him,  that  on  the 
welfare  of  individuals  depends  the  welfare  of  the  state,  —  these 
are  not  principles  arbitrarily  assumed  in  defence  of  theoretical 
legislation.  Whatever  conclusions  are  immediately  inferred 
from  them  must  be  true;  and  it  is  only  when  the  chain  of  rea- 
soning is  extended,  and  the  consequences  are  remote,  that  sta- 
tistics are  of  use  to  check  the  induction,  and  qualify  or  refute 
the  ultimate  rule.  The  class  of  legislators  who  reject  the 
Economist's  arguments  as  too  abstract,  and  his  projects  as 
impracticable,  and  profess  themselves  to  be  governed  only  by 


THE   SCIENCE    OF    POLITICAL   ECONOMY.  125 

common  sense  and  daily  experience,  are  refuted  by  their  own 
frequent  changes  of  opinion  and  fluctuating  measures.  Cir- 
cumstances bring  them  round  to  the  very  positions  they  for- 
merly assailed,  and  they  find  themselves  alternately  fighting 
in  opposite  camps,  without  the  consciousness  of  desertion  or 
removal.  Consistency  is  the  fruit  of  those  modes  of  thought 
which  they  formally  condemn.  So  true  is  it  that  a  short-sighted 
policy  is  ever  a  temporary  one. 

In  this  country  we  are  all  legislators.  The  humblest  indi- 
vidual who  puts  in  a  vote  at  town-meeting,  exerts  an  influence 
on  the  laws,  and  does  his  part  in  determining  vexed  political 
questions.  In  recommending  the  study  of  Political  Economy, 
then,  we  merely  advise  that  such  knowledge  may  be  obtained 
as  may  fit  a  citizen  for  the  proper  exercise  of  his  functions. 
The  practice,  if  not  the  theory,  of  our  government  is  to  elect 
persons  to  office  who  shall  represent  the  opinions  of  the  elect- 
ors, and  not  to  delegate  to  the  elected  the  power  of  thinking 
and  judging  for  the  community.  The  represented  are  not 
humble  enough  to  suppose  that  their  representative  has  better 
means,  or  a  better  capacity,  to  judge  of  the  state  of  the  country 
than  themselves  ;  but  they  insist  on  making  the  correctness  of 
his  opinions,  as  it  appears  to  them,  to  be  the  principal  test  of 
his  qualifications  for  office.  Now,  it  is  obvious  that  the  bulk 
of  the  voters  will  look  mainly  to  the  candidate's  opinions  on 
those  questions  which  must  directly  affect  their  own  pecuniary 
interests.  Xo  government  on  earth,  in  proportion  to  the  extent 
of  country,  is  conducted  at  so  little  expense  as  our  own  ;  yet  a 
candidate  has  no  more  certain  mode  of  recommending  himself 
to  the  affections  of  the  people  than  by  proposing  schemes  of 
retrenchment.  We  have  heard  of  an  old  representative  to  the 
General  Court  from  one  of  our  country  towns,  who  made  it 
his  boast  that  he  had  never  voted  for  any  proposition  to  spend 
the  people's  money  ;  in  other  words,  lie  had  opposed  every 
bill,  whether  judicious  or  not  in  other  respects,  which  led  to 
the  expenditure  of  a  single  dollar.  The  consequence  was,  that 
he  was  elected  every  time  he  chose  to  be  considered  as  a  can- 
didate. The  common  prejudice  against  direct  taxation  proves, 
that  in  a  popular  government  the  community  must  be  cheated 
into  those  expenditures  which  are  essential  to  the  welfare  of 


126  THE   UTILITY    AND   THE   LIMITATIONS    OF 

the  state.  Nothing  is  more  certain  than  that  indirect  taxation 
really  imposes  the  heaviest  burden,  for  the  costs  of  collection 
are  greater.  But  the  tax  is  concealed,  the  enhancement  of 
cost,  which  it  occasions,  being  blended  with  the  ordinary  fluc- 
tuations of  price.  Universally,  where  the  pecuniary  bearings 
of  a  measure  are  indirect,  the  decision  on  its  propriety  is  had 
on  false  or  insufficient  grounds,  and  the  consequent  mistakes  of 
policy  are  frequent  and  serious.  We  are  not  Quixotic  enough 
to  suppose  that  the  dissemination  of  scientific  principles  is  pos- 
sible to  an  extent  that  would  entirely  remedy  this  evil.  But 
it  is  not  unreasonable  to  believe,  that,  were  the  study  of  Eco- 
nomical science  made  more  general  than  it  is  at  present,  the 
grosser  errors  might  be  avoided,  and  the  character  of  our  com- 
mercial legislation,  which  is  now  so  uncertain  and  changeable, 
might  be  materially  improved. 

It  is  mournful  to  reflect,  that,  in  a  country  where  so  much 
depends  on  the  correctness  of  the  opinions  held  by  the  people 
at  large,  hardly  any  progress  has  been  made  in  defining  and 
limiting  the  maxims  of  Political  Economy  for  our  own  use,  or 
in  diffusing  that  degree  of  elementary  knowledge  which  is 
requisite  for  the  security  and  well-being  of  the  state.  The  ab- 
surd prejudice  against  wholesale  dealers  in  grain,  which  once 
caused  an  alarming  riot  in  New  York,  cannot  exist  in  a  mind 
imbued  with  the  simplest  and  most  evident  maxims  of  the 
science.  Unless  this  degree  of  knowledge  becomes  universal, 
we  may  naturally  expect,  in  a  season  of  scarcity,  the  most  fran- 
tic actions  on  the  part  of  the  populace.  The  experience  of  the 
last  year  has  proved  that,  even  in  our  extensive  and  fertile 
territory,  a  deficiency  of  breadstuffs  is  a  possible  occurrence. 
The  recurrence  of  such  a  scarcity  among  a  people  who  have 
no  means  of  forming  a  correct  judgment  of  its  nature,  causes, 
and  remedies,  and  in  whom  the  physical  as  well  as  moral  power 
of  the  state  resides,  would  be  fraught  with  the  most  direct  and 
mischievous  consequence.  In  view  of  these  and  other  possible 
occurrences,  we  think  the  propriety  of  paying  greater  attention 
to  the  progress  and  dissemination  of  knowledge  on  Economical 
subjects  to  be  sufficiently  evident. 

But  before  this  study  could  be  introduced  into  our  common 
schools,  and  cultivated  to  a  greater  extent  in  our  colleges  and 


THE    SCIENCE    OF   POLITICAL   ECONOMY.  127 

higher  seminaries  of  learning,  some  improvements  must  be  made 
in  the  theory  of  the  science,  and  in  adapting  it  to  our  peculiar 
wants  and  situation.  We  have  already  alluded  to  the  two 
principal  obstacles  to  the  progress  of  the  science  on  this  side  of 
the  Atlantic,  —  the  want  of  copious  statistical  returns,  and  the 
danger  of  confounding  Economical  discussions  with  party  de- 
bates. The  first  of  these  difficulties  cannot  much  longer  exist. 
Industry  may  effect  much  by  a  proper  use  of  existing  means 
of  information,  and  we  trust  the  attention  of  Congress  has  not 
been  called  in  vain  to  the  urgent  necessity  of  enlarging  these 
sources  of  knowledge.  The  prejudices  of  statesmen  may  be 
done  away  by  demonstrating  the  applicability  and  usefulness 
of  the  doctrines,  or  they  may  be  driven  to  a  more  liberal  mode 
of  considering  the  subject  by  finding  the  people  already  in 
advance  of  themselves.  The  remedy  of  the  other  evil  which 
we  have  mentioned  is  far  more  difficult.  So  strong  is  the  in- 
fluence of  universal  example,  that  we  can  hardly  admit  it  to  be 
possible  for  one  to  advocate  or  impugn  the  policy  of  a  tariff  on 
any  other  than  party  grounds,  and  with  the  wages  and  motives 
of  a  political  aspirant.  Till  a  more  liberal  sentiment  prevails, 
we  may  well  despair  of  hearing  the  subject  discussed  by  men 
who  can  have  no  personal  interest  in  the  result,  and  who  are 
well  fitted  by  their  previous  studies  and  pursuits  to  agitate  an 
abstruse  and  difficult  question. 

The  forbidding  appearance  of  the  subject,  as  it  is  displayed 
in  most  of  the  formal  treatises,  the  obscurity  of  the  doctrines, 
and  the  abstract  and  repulsive  nature  of  the  reasoning  em- 
ployed, have  appeared  to  some  an  insurmountable  obstacle  to 
the  diffusion  and  popularity  of  the  science.  There  are  some 
grounds  for  this  apprehension.  Writers  have  exhibited  the 
theme  in  its  least  inviting  aspect,  and  have  prided  themselves 
on  the  severe  and  rugged  appearance  of  their  discussions,  as  if 
attractiveness  of  style  and  all  embellishment  and  illustration 
were  foreign  to  the  occasion.  But  the  "  Wealth  of  Nations" 
proves  that  such  a  course  is  unnecessary  ;  for  the  graceful  dif- 
fuseness  of  the  author's  manner,  and  the  abundance  of  exam- 
ples, veil  the  abstract  nature  of  the  inquiry,  and  invest  its 
harshest  features  with  a  secret  charm.  For  this  reason,  if  a 
foreign  work  must  be  adopted  as  a  text-book  in  our  colleges, 


128  THE    UTILITY   AND    THE    LIMITATIONS    OF 

the  writings  of  Adam  Smith  should  be  preferred.  The  want 
of  method  and  the  digressive  character  of  the  book  are  slight 
objections  to  its  use,  when  the  only  object  is  to  create  an  inter- 
est in  the  stud}7,  to  furnish  unexceptionable  examples  of  the 
proper  kind  of  reasoning,  and  to  induce  the  pupil  to  think  and 
judge  for  himself.  We  have  great  doubts  whether  the  first 
principles  of  Political  Economy  have  ever  been  set  forth  in  a 
more  satisfactory  manner  than  by  the  founder  of  the  science. 
A  competent  instructor  might  be  trusted  to  suggest  such  cir- 
cumstances as  qualify  the  application  of  the  doctrines  in  this 
country. 

We  are  bound  to  declare  that  the  preceding  remarks  have 
been  suggested  by  the  defects  of  Dr.  Wayland's  book,  consid- 
ered as  a  manual  of  instruction.  In  other  respects,  it  presents 
many  of  those  features  which  gained  for  the  author's  work  on 
Ethics  a  well-merited  popularity.  The  great  fault  of  the  work 
is  its  want  of  American  character,  —  of  adaptation  to  our  pe- 
culiar circumstances  and  institutions.  Practically  considered, 
few  principles  of  the  science,  as  they  appear  in  most  treatises, 
are  universally  true.  We  have  shown  that  they  must  be  cau- 
tiously reduced  to  practice,  when  the  attendant  circumstances 
are  different  from  those  which  the  author  or  discoverer  had  in 
view.  Dr.  Wayland  has  hardly  attempted  to  state  the  excep- 
tions to  the  rules,  or  to  limit  the  enunciation  ;  and  the  useful- 
ness of  his  book  in  this  country  is  proportionally  diminished. 
Thus,  the  argument  respecting  a  legal  provision  for  the  poor 
sets  forth  a  sound  doctrine  for  English  statesmen,  proposing 
the  only  certain  remedy  for  the  greatest  evil  which  their  coun- 
try suffers.  In  the  United  States,  the  evil  does  not  exist. 
Properly  speaking,  no  public  relief  is  granted  to  the  simply 
indigent,  tin;  few  cases  in  which  a  home  is  afforded  to  the  able- 
bodied  poor  being  rightly  considered  as  instances,  not  of  char- 
ity, but  of  punishment.  Hut  the  argument  on  this  head  is 
worse  than  useless,  for  it  proves  too  much.  Those  who  are 
able  to  work,  says  Dr.  Wayland,  should  not  be  maintained  at 
the  public  cost,  because  inviolability  of  property  is  essential  to 
the  social  welfare.  Hut  the  right  of  property  is  equally  in- 
vaded when  one  receives  without  labor  what  is  taken  from 
another  without  an  equivalent,  whether  the  necessities  of  the 


THE    SCIENCE   OF   POLITICAL   ECONOMY.  129 

former  are  real  or  factitious,  —  whether  his  distress  arises  from 
his  own  fault  or  from  circumstances  without  his  control.  Per- 
sons incapacitated  by  natural  causes,  the  blind,  the  aged,  the 
sick,  have  by  this  argument  no  better  claim  on  the  community 
than  the  indolent  and  the  vicious.  But  we  deny  that  the 
enactment  of  poor  laws  amounts  in  any  case  to  the  violation 
of  a  right.  Property  is  a  social  institution,  the  creature  of 
law,  and  is  of  course  subservient  to  all  the  purposes  for  which 
society  was  created.  It  was  instituted  to  promote  the  general 
welfare,  and  must  therefore  be  subject  to  those  limitations  and 
restrictions  which  increase  its  tendency  to  this  end.  It  can- 
not be  for  the  general  good  that  one  man  should  perish  from 
want,  while  another  is  rolling  in  wealth.  The  law  takes  from 
the  latter  what  is  barely  sufficient  to  preserve  the  former  from 
starvation.  To  take  more  would  be  to  encourage  idleness,  and 
in  this  way  to  diminish  the  general  stock  of  happiness.  To 
take  nothing  would  be  to  cause  an  amount  of  individual  suf- 
fering that  would  equally  lessen  the  sum  of  welfai'e  in  the 
community.  The  poor  man  has  the  same  right  to  the  portion 
assigned  to  him  which  the  original  possessor  of  the  property 
has  to  the  remainder  ;  for  both  are  indebted  to  the  laws  for 
what  they  enjoy,  and  in  the  judgment  of  the  legislature,  whose 
authority  on  this  subject  is  supreme,  both  enactments  are 
equally  expedient.  Put  the  question  on  the  ground  of  expe- 
diency, not  of  right,  and  Dr.  Wayland's  conclusion  is  correct. 

One  great  problem,  the  most  difficult,  perhaps,  in  the  whole 
science,  yet  the  most  important,  if  we  consider  its  bearing  on 
the  determination  of  many  other  questions,  is  passed  over  in 
this  work  before  us  with  too  little  notice.  We  refer  to  the 
effects  of  great  accumulation  of  capital,  of  vast  improvements 
in  labor-saving  machinery,  —  to  the  possibility  of  the  product- 
ive power  in  a  community  outrunning  its  ability  and  desire  to 
consume.  May  not  capital  be  accumulated  to  a  point,  beyond 
which  there  would  be  no  possibility  of  employing  it  ?  May 
not  habits  of  frugality  become  common  to  an  extent  that  would 
check,  rather  than  favor,  the  increase  of  wealth  ?  If  the  wants 
of  a  community  were  confined  to  mere  bread  and  water,  indus- 
try would  be  required  for  no  other  purpose  than  for  the  raising 
of  grain  ;  and  as  the  labor  of  one  would  in  this  way  provide  for 
o 


130  THE    UTILITY   AND    THE   LIMITATIONS   OF 

the  subsistence  of  a  hundred,  ninety-nine  would  be  thrown  out 
of  employment.  What  could  one  in  this  class  offer  in  exchange 
for  the  hundredth  portion  of  the  other's  produce  ?  The  luxu- 
rious habits  of  the  rich  are  necessary  to  balance  the  effects  of 
forced  economy  among  the  poor.  If  the  higher  classes  sub- 
mit from  choice  to  those  privations  which  less  fortunate  persons 
undergo  from  necessity,  the  demand  for  industry  and  capital 
would  be  too  far  restricted  to  admit  of  the  universal  employ- 
ment of  the  one,  or  the  general  and  rapid  accumulation  of  the 
other.  We  cannot,  therefore,  agree  with  some  Economists, 
that  luxury  is  always  an  evil,  for  it  tends  to  the  equalization 
of  wealth. 

Before  the  principles  of  Economical  science  were  much  dis- 
cussed, the  inci-ease  of  the  population  was  the  sole  end  which 
philanthropy  had  in  view.  In  a  given  district,  the  quantum 
of  happiness  was  held  to  be  in  direct  ratio  to  the  number  of  in- 
habitants. But  the  sturdiest  opponent  of  Malthus  must  admit 
that  an  increase  of  the  laboring  population  of  England  and 
Ireland,  that  miserable  and  degraded  class,  is  hardly  to  be  de- 
sired. A  ruinous  competition  for  employment,  the  reduction 
of  wages  to  the  lowest  point  that  will  suffice  to  keep  life  flick- 
ering in  its  socket,  is  the  inevitable  consequence  of  an  enlarge- 
ment of  numbers.  To  increase  the  comforts  of  the  multitudes 
who  exist,  rather  than  to  call  other  multitudes  into  being,  who 
must  claim  a  share  of  the  slender  stock  of  enjoyments,  is  the 
dictate  of  cautious  and  reflecting  philanthropy.  "  Before  pop- 
ulation can  advance,  there  must  be  something  on  which  it  can 
subsist ;  before  capital  can  increase,  there  must  be  something 
in  which  it  may  be  embodied."  The  same  doubts  respecting 
the  desirableness,  even  the  possibility,  of  indefinite  increase  in 
the  case,  of  population,  have  now  come  to  be  entertained  by 
respectable  writers  in  regard  to  capital.  We  do  not  partici- 
pate in  these  alarms.  The  evils  that  are  feared  seem  to  result 
more  from  defective  political  organization,  than  from  the  nat- 
ural course  of  things  as  established  by  a  beneficent  Creator. 
An  exposition  of  this  remark  may  evince  in  some  degree  the 
necessity  of  modifying  the  Economical  principles  established 
in  Europe,  before,  they  are  applied  to  the  inhabitants  of  this 
country. 


THE   SCIENCE    OF   POLITICAL   ECONOMY.  131 

The  Malthusian  principle,  that  population  tends  to  increase 
faster  than  the  means  of  subsistence,  cannot  be  admitted,  if  a 
necessary  connection  can  be  shown  between  enlargement  in  the 
number  of  human  beings  and  the  augmentation  of  provision 
for  their  support.  At  first  sight,  such  a  connection  would  seem 
to  exist.  More  cultivators  will  raise  more  products.  A  farmer 
who  owns  a  hundred  acres,  and  has  but  two  sons  to  assist  him 
in  his  labors,  will  suffer  a  portion  of  his  ground  to  remain  cov- 
ered with  wood,  will  entirely  neglect  some  fields  where  the  soil 
is  lean  and  stony,  and  plough  up  in  the  whole,  perhaps,  not 
more  than  a  tenth  part  of  his  possessions.  Ask  him  why  he 
does  no  more,  and  he  will  reply  that  he  has  not  a  sufficient 
number  of  hands.  His  "  boys  "  and  himself  have  enough  to 
employ  their  time  as  it  is.  But  should  the  number  of  his  fam- 
ily increase  to  ten,  a  portion  of  the  woodland  is  cleared  up,  the 
scattered  stones  are  collected  and  formed  into  walls  to  pro- 
tect the  crops  from  the  winds  and  invigorate  the  soil  by  their 
warmth  ;  thrice  as  much  land  is  dug  up  and  sown,  and  the  har- 
vest is  proportionally  increased.  The  family  is  farther  re- 
moved than  before  from  the  fear  of  want,  for  there  is  a  yet 
larger  surplus  to  be  sent  to  market.  Increase  the  number  of 
laborers  and  the  disposition  to  toil,  and  who  shall  prescribe 
bounds  to  the  productiveness  of  the  earth  ?  Nature  has  scarped 
the  mountain's  side,  but  human  industry  has  chiselled  it  into 
terraces,  transported  soil  to  the  spot,  and  converted  the  bare 
and  steep  face  of  the  rock  into  a  smiling  vineyard.  It  has 
drained  the  fens,  and  drawn  the  sustenance  of  life  from  the 
place  which  formerly  sent  forth  only  noxious  and  fatal  ex- 
halations. It  has  banked  out  the  ocean,  and  where  once  the 
fisherman  plied  his  oar  and  fleets  were  anchored,  the  fields  are 
now  waving  with  corn. 

But  the  disciple  of  Malthus,  chuckling  over  the  powers  of 
the  "  geometrical  ratio,"  measures  the  earth,  ascertains  the 
number  of  square  miles  on  its  surface,  and  tells  us  how  soon 
the  human  race,  doubling  once  in  twenty-five  years,  must  come 
to  jostling  each  other  in  their  daily  walks.  He  forgets  that 
the  speculation  relates  only  to  a  distant  futurity,  that  no  coun- 
try can  yet  be  shown  where  the  most  approved  methods  of  cul- 
tivation are  carried  to  the  utmost  extent,  and  where  a  portion 


132  THE   UTILITY   AND    THE   LIMITATIONS    OF 

of  the  inhabitants  still  perish  from  starvation.  Moreover,  the 
facilities  of  commercial  intercourse  are  now  so  extended,  that 
the  theory  cannot  be  applied,  —  it  can  have  no  practical  truth, 
—  till  human  industry  and  skill  have  exhausted  the  productive 
powers  of  the  whole  earth,  till  the  last  foot  of  ground  has  been 
tilled,  and  the  last  resources  of  agriculture  have  failed  to  meet 
the  increased  demand.  If  population  ceases  to  advance  before 
this  point  is  attained,  the  evil  lies  somewhere  else.  The  proper 
remedy  is  not  to  check  the  demand,  but  to  enlarge  the  supply. 
The  inmates  of  an  Irish  hovel  may  die  by  actual  famine,  or  by 
any  one  of  the  thousand  diseases  consequent  on  wants  imper- 
fectly supplied  ;  but  while  Ireland  continues  to  export  many 
articles  of  food,  the  evil  must  be  attributed,  not  to  the  insuffi- 
ciency of  the  Creator's  bounty,  but  to  the  failure  of  human 
efforts  to  second  His  beneficent  designs.  The  cause  is  artificial 
and  remediable.  The  stores  of  Nature  are  not  consumed,  but 
they  are  unequally  distributed.  The  legislature  may  find  it  dif- 
ficult to  effect  a  more  equal  division  of  the  means  of  subsistence 
without  infringing  the  right  of  property,  and  causing  evils  a 
thousand-fold  greater  than  any  which  result  from  the  present 
constitution  of  things.  Still  the  remedy  is  possible,  and  the 
check  upon  population  is  unnecessary.  In  this  country,  we  are 
accustomed  to  believe  that  many  of  the  particular  provisions 
of  English  law  tend  needlessly  to  favor  and  increase  this 
inequality  of  private  fortunes.  For  instances,  we  need  only 
allude  to  the  constitution  of  the  Irish  Protestant  church,  the 
tithe  system,  and  the  peculiar  modes  of  taxation,  which  favor 
absenteeism  among  the  great  landed  proprietors.  A  compari- 
son of  our  own  institutions  with  those  of  England,  displaying 
the  effect  of  each  on  the  distribution  of  wealth,  on  the  accu- 
mulation and  perpetuity  of  overgrown  private  fortunes,  would 
form  an  interesting  chapter  in  an  American  treatise  on  Eco- 
nomical science. 

The  system  of  Malthus  was  originally  proposed  to  refute 
those  dreams  of  human  perfectibility  which  Godwin  advanced 
in  his  treatise  on  Political  Justice.  Could  the  moral  and  in- 
tellectual character  of  the  race  be  changed,  Malthus  argued, — 
could  equality  of  property  be  maintained  without  destroying  the 
incitements  to  toil,  and  the  rules  of  natural  morality  and  jus- 


THE    SCIENCE   OF   POLITICAL   ECONOMY.  133 

tice  be  universally  enforced  without  the  sanction  of  law  or  the 
dread  of  punishment,  —  in  a  word,  could  man  become  a  per- 
fectly wise  and  virtuous  being,  the  fecundity  of  the  species 
would  still  prove  an  insurmountable  obstacle  to  the  indefinite 
growth  and  continuance  of  happiness.  As  all  the  checks  on 
population  existing  at  present  would  be  done  away,  the  race 
must  multiply  till  the  crowded  earth  could  receive  no  more  ; 
contests  for  place  must  then  ensue,  occasioning  a  new  class  of 
evils,  that  would  carry  man  back  to  his  state  of  original  im- 
perfection. We  cannot  get  rid  of  the  difficulty  respecting  the 
origin  of  evil  by  showing  that  sin  and  misery  are  remediable, 
and  continue  only  by  our  own  fault.  In  a  greater  or  less  de- 
gree, they  form  part  of  the  necessary  constitution  of  things. 
At  present,  however,  such  speculations  respecting  the  tendency 
of  population  are  wholly  inapplicable.  In  the  most  civilized 
countries,  the  advancement  of  the  race  has  stopped  at  a  point 
far  short  of  that  which  it  is  capable  of  attaining.  We  are 
practically  concerned  only  with  a  class  of  evils,  the  remedies 
for  which  are  within  our  reach,  and  can  be  attained  without 
any  necessary  diminution  in  the  numbei-s  of  mankind. 

The  question  respecting  the  unlimited  accumulation  of  capi- 
tal, and  its  probable  effects,  admits  of  a  similar  solution.  The 
natural  desire  for  enjoyments  is  always  sufficient  to  exhaust  the 
productive  power  of  machines  and  human  agency  united,  when- 
ever a  virtual  equality  of  means  removes  all  check  upon  the 
demand,  except  the  satiety  that  results  from  continued  gratifi- 
cation. But  the  inordinate  aggregation  of  capital  in  the  hands 
of  a  few  limits  from  necessity  the  requirements  of  the  larger 
class  ;  while  the  luxurious  imagination  of  a  Sybarite  cannot  so 
enlarge  the  demands  of  the  smaller  number  as  to  make  up  the 
deficiency.  Confining  our  attention  to  dress,  for  instance,  if 
ninety-nine  out  of  a  hundred  are  compelled  to  use  only  the 
coarsest  and  cheapest  stuffs,  a  small  portion  of  their  productive 
agency  will  suffice  to  clothe  themselves  ;  the  surplus  of  in- 
dustry can  be  employed  only  in  devising  and  executing  very 
costly  fabrics  to  gratify  the  tasteful  and  capricious  inclinations 
of  the  fortunate  individual.  So  it  is  with  articles  of  food,  and 
with  all  the  appurtenances  of  household  luxury  and  comfort. 
The  wealthy  must  expend  in  wanton  gratifications  what  is 


134  THE   UTILITY   AND   THE   LIMITATIONS   OF 

saved  from  the  forced  privations  of  the  poor,  or  the  demand 
will  stop  short  of  the  means  of  supply.  Equalize  to  a  greater 
extent  the  distribution  of  wealth,  and  the  retrenchment  of  un- 
necessary expenses  on  the  part  of  the  few  is  far  more  than 
compensated  by  the  enlargement  of  expenditures  by  the  mul- 
titude. If  each  of  a  hundred  individuals  wears  broadcloth  of 
a  moderate  fineness,  more  industry  will  be  employed  in  manu- 
facture than  if  ninety-nine  used  only  the  coarsest  serge,  and 
the  hundredth  paraded  his  delicate  person  in  silks  and  satins. 
Of  course,  we  advocate  no  Agrarian  scheme  of  distribution,  the 
impolicy  of  which,  in  an  Economical  point  of  view,  is  demon- 
strable on  the  simplest  principles  of  the  science.  The  grand 
problem  which  the  legislator  has  to  solve  is  to  diffuse  wealth 
as  equally  as  possible  through  the  community,  without  infring- 
ing in  the  slightest  degree  the  right  of  property.  The  conse- 
quence of  such  infringement  must  be,  not  equality  of  distri- 
bution, but  universal  impoverishment.  We  contend  that  many 
European  institutions  favor  the  inordinate  and  unnecessary 
aggregation  of  capital  in  a  few  hands,  and  perpetuate  the  so- 
cial evils  which  their  political  theorists  seek  in  vain  to  remedy, 
because  they  wilfully  shut  their  eyes  to  the  only  real  cause. 
We  refer  particularly  to  the  right  of  primogeniture  and  the 
laws  of  entail,  which  are  as  pernicious  in  their  Economical 
effects  as  they  are  absurd  in  morals. 

They  operate  as  a  clog  upon  industry,  because  they  remove 
the  most  powerful  of  all  incitements  to  toil,  —  the  hope  of  im- 
proving one's  condition  in  life.  Where  they  exist,  the  barriers 
between  the  several  classes  in  society  are  so  lofty  that,  though 
a  passage  downwards  in  the  ranks  is  always  possible,  nothing 
but  the  most  extraordinary  conjuncture  of  circumstances  can 
ever  enable  a  common  laborer  to  pass  up  to  a  higher  grade. 
To  maintain  his  position,  to  secure  a  bare  subsistence  for  him- 
self and  family,  is  the  only  object  which  he  can  reasonably 
keep  in  view  ;  and  he  will  ordinarily  confine  his  labors  to  that 
end.  If  lie  can  earn  in  four  days  what  will  maintain  him 
through  the  week,  he  will  be  idle  the  other  three.  But  place 
before  him  the  hope,  founded  on  the  constant  fluctuations  of 
wealth  that  are  going  on  around  him,  of  securing  a  more  ele- 
vated position,  and  the  task  imposed  by  necessity  is  changed 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   POLITICAL   ECONOMY.  135 

into  a  labor  of  love.  Nature  has  made  ample  provision  for 
this  effect.  Wealth  is  never  stationary,  where  her  laws  are  not 
perverted  by  human  institutions.  The  property  of  a  father  is 
distributed  among  his  children,  and  subdivided  to  an  indefinite 
extent  by  descendants  in  the  third  degree.  The  industry  and 
providence  of  a  family  in  one  generation  are  counteracted  by 
the  folly  and  spendthriftness  of  the  next.  This  is  the  equality 
established  by  Nature,  in  contradistinction  from  that  main- 
tained by  theorists,  —  an  equality  not  of  actual  provision,  but 
of  opportunities.  The  right  of  primogeniture  and  laws  of  en- 
tail destroy  this  beneficial  arrangement,  by  removing  one  class 
in  society  from  the  operation  of  fear,  and  depriving  the  other 
and  larger  portion  of  hope. 


DUALISM,   MATERIALISM,  OR  IDEALISM. 

PROM    THE    PRINCETON    REVIEW    FOR    MARCH,  1878. 

Ix  a  living  human  body,  viewed  objectively,  there  are  mani- 
fested two  distinct  classes  of  phenomena,  which  are  recognized 
in  every  language  as  perfectly  distinguishable  from  each  other, 
being  in  fact  so  unlike  that  they  have  not  a  single  feature  in 
common.  These  are,  first,  merely  physical  appearances,  all 
of  which  are  reducible  to  modes  of  extension  and  motion,  and 
which  are  witnessed  or  made  known  to  us  only  through  the 
corporeal  organs  of  sense,  chiefly  through  sight  and  touch. 
Secondly,  there  are  the  psychical  phenomena  of  cognitive  per- 
ception, feeling,  and  volition,  which  are  not,  in  themselves  or 
under  their  first  and  obvious  aspect,  modes  either  of  extension 
or  motion,  which  cannot  be  even  imagined  or  conceived  as 
such,  and  are  not  manifested  through  the  senses,  but  are  made 

O 

known  to  us  in  the  first  instance  solely  through  that  internal 
power  which  we  call  consciousness.  Because  these  two  classes 
of  phenomena  are  so  unlike,  —  unlike  both  in  their  nature,  and 
in  the  sources  or  agencies  through  which  our  knowledge  of  them 

O  O  O 

is  obtained,  —  the  common  opinion  of  mankind  attributes  them 
respectively  to  two  entirely  distinct  substances  or  entities', 
called  Body  and  Mind,  or  the  conscious  Self.  The  distinction 
between  them  is  even  so  obvious,  that  it  is  recognized  in  every 
language  :  and  the  knowledge  of  it  therefore  precedes  specula- 
tion, and  is  anterior  to  all  science  and  philosophy;  for  language 
is  the  expression  and  record  of  the  primitive  observation  and 
unprejudiced  common-sense  of  mankind. 

These  two  classes  of  phenomena  are  further  distinguished  as 
being  external  or  internal  to  him  who  observes  them.  The 
former,  the  physical  phenomena,  are  supposed  to  be  out  of  us, 
and  are  known  onlv  through  the  motion  which  brings  some 


DUALISM,    MATERIALISM,    OR   IDEALISM.  137 

portion  of  the  external  matter  in  contact  with  our  organs  of 
sense.  The  latter,  the  psychical  phenomena,  are  within  us, 
and  are  cognized  directly,  without  any  apparent  motion,  and 
without  the  intervention  of  any  corporeal  organ  of  sense,  by 
that  indivisible  being  whom  every  one  calls  Himself.  Again, 
because  the  physical  phenomena  are  external,  and  are  cog- 
nizable through  the  senses,  each  of  them  may  be  witnessed 
simultaneously  by  many  independent  observers  ;  the  whole  au- 
dience of  a  speaker  may  behold  his  gestures  and  hear  his  ut- 
tered words.  But  the  psychical  phenomena,  the  action  of  that 
speaker's  mind,  cannot  be  observed  by  any  person  but  himself. 
We  who  hear  him  know  what  he  says,  but  we  cannot,  except 
'through  his  report,  know  what  he  thinks.  As  Cardinal  Man- 
ning says,  "  No  one  outside  of  us  knows  us  as  we  know  our- 
selves within.  St.  Paul  asks,  '  What  man  knoweth  the  things 
of  man  but  the  spirit  of  man  that  is  in  him  ?  '  Still  farther, 
the  physical  change  itself  can  become  known  only  through  a 
psychical  attestation  of  it,  the  observer  being  distinct  from  the 
fact  observed.  But  a  psychical  phenomenon,  so  to  speak,  wit- 
nesses itself  by  an  act  of  consciousness,  and  thus  supplies  the 
only  possible  evidence  of  its  own  existence.  Thus,  the  color 
of  the  sky,  the  fragrance  of  the  rose,  the  heat  of  the  fire,  are 
nothing  to  me,  and  do  not  even  exist,  except  as  perceived  by 
an  act  of  my  mind  ;  but  that  act  of  mind  is  a  conscious  one, 
the  knowledge  that  it  exists  being  inseparable  from  the  fact  of 
its  existence.  All  physical  phenomena,  moreover,  because  they 
are  modes  of  extension  and  motion,  consist  of  parts  external  to 
each  other,  partes  extra  partes,  and  so  are  complex  and  divis- 
ible without  limit,  an  absolute  unit  either  of  space  or  time  be- 
ing inconceivable.  But  a  state  of  consciousness,  be  it  a  per- 
ception, a  feeling,  or  a  volition,  is  properly  indivisible,  having 
no  relation  to  space  and  no  proper  duration  in  time,  being  com- 
plete and  fully  determinable  in  character  at  the  first  and  onlv 
moment  of  its  being,  what  is  called  its  "  continuity  "  being 
only  a  succession  of  its  repeated  acts. 

The  distinguishing  characteristics  of  the  two  classes  of  phe- 
nomena, so  far  as  they  have  been  thus  analyzed,  may  be  con- 
veniently summed  up  in  a  tabular  form. 


138  DUALISM,    MATERIALISM,    OR   IDEALISM. 

PHYSICAL.  PSYCHICAL. 

1.  All  are   modes  of  extension  and  1.  None   of   them   can   be  conceived 
motion.  either  as  extended  or  as  moving. 

2.  They  can  be  observed  only  through  2.  They  are  never  cognizable  by  the 
the  action  of  the  senses.  senses,  but  are  witnessed  solely  by  con- 
sciousness. 

3.  They  are  external  to  the  observer.  3.  They  are  internal  to  the  observer. 

4.  Each   may  be  witnessed   simulta-  4.  They  can  be  immediately  known 
neously  by  many  observers.  only  by  the  one  person  who  experiences 

them. 

5.  What  is  physical  can  be   known        5.  What  is  psychical  is  known  per  se, 
only  through  what  is  psychical.  the  phenomenon  being  its  own  attesta- 
tion. 

6.  The  observer  is  distinct  from  the         6.  The  act  of  observing  and  the  fact 
fact  observed.  observed  are  one  and  the  same  thing. 

7.  They  consist  of  parts  external  to         7.  They  have  no  distinction  of  parts, 
each  other,  and  are  therefore  divisible     and  so  are  indivisible. 

without  limit. 

Now  the  great  question  which  we  have  to  consider  is, 
whether  these  two  classes  of  phenomena  are  manifestations 
of  two  coexisting  and  perfectly  distinguishable  substances, 
entities,  or  things  lying  behind  or  beneath  them,  these  two 
being  designated  respectively  as  Matter  and  Mind,  or  the 
thinking  Self ;  or  whether  they  are  only  two  aspects  of  one 
and  the  same  entity  or  substance.  In  other  words,  is  man  a 
dual  being,  composed  of  Body  and  Soul,  these  two  acting,  for 
a  while  at  least,  together  and  in  concert,  or  is  man  really  one 
in  his  inmost  nature  and  being  ;  this  one,  according  to  the 
Materialist,  being  only  relatively  one,  a  mere  aggregate  of 
various  sorts  of  matter,  a  structure  curiously  put  together  of 
chemical  atoms  ;  or,  according  to  the  Idealist,  being  mind  and 
mind  only,  and  so  absolutely  simple  and  indivisible,  what  we 
call  our  Body  being  a  mere  shadow,  form  without  substance, 
a  mental  picture  existing  solely  in  the  mind  and  for  the  mind  ? 
Here  issue  is  joined;  this  is  the  whole  question,  than  which 
a  graver  and  more  pregnant  one  cannot  be  stated.  Dualism, 
Materialism,  or  Idealism,  —  which  will  you  adopt? 

It  is  curious  that  the  answer  to  this  question  depends  very 
much  on  the  person  respecting  whom  it  is  asked.  If  you  ask 
it  respecting  any  other  man  than  yourself,  and  confine  your 
attention  entirely  to  what  you  directly  know  of  him,  then  you 
must  accept  the  doctrine  of  Materialism.  To  you,  any  other 


DUALISM,   MATERIALISM,    OR   IDEALISM.  139 

man  appears  as  one  body  among  other  bodies,  a  mere  aggre- 
gate of  atoms,  manifesting  only  physical  characteristics.  For 
all  that  you  immediately  know  of  him,  he  may  be  a  mere 
automaton,  like  Maelzel's  chess-player,  making  gestures  and 
uttering  sounds,  indeed,  though,  apart  from  the  purely  con- 
ventional significance  which  you  see  fit  to  attach  to  them, 
those  gestures  and  sounds  have  no  more  meaning  than  the 
flapping  of  a  windmill's  arms  and  sails,  the  notes  sounded  on 
a  flute,  or  the  screeches  of  a  locomotive.  Viewed  from  the 
outside,  which  is  all  that  is  accessible  to  sense,  man  is  only 
a  forked  radish,  with  a  head  fantastically  carved.  Hence, 
Descartes,  regarding  animals  only  externally,  concluded  with 
perfect  justice  that  they  were  mere  machines,  destitute  of  feel- 
ing, and  therefore  that  there  was  no  cruelty  in  beating  them, 
or  even  in  dissecting  them  while  still  apparently  alive.  Rea- 
soning in  like  manner,  another  philosopher  propounds  this 
grave  question :  Suppose  a  skilful  mechanic,  as  much  excelling 
a  Vaucanson  or  a  Maelzel  as  either  of  these  excelled  a  com- 
mon carpenter,  should  construct  a  wooden  figure  perfectly 
resembling  my  footman,  dressed  in  the  same  livery,  and  per- 
forming with  equal  adroitness  every  menial  task  that  was 
required  of  him  ;  should  I  be  able  to  detect  the  cheat,  and 
perceive  that  an  automaton  had  been  substituted  for  my  ser- 
vant ?  Certainly  not,  I  answer ;  though  perchance  a  doubt 
might  sometimes  occur,  whether  the  mechanical,  and  therefore 
exact  and  unvarying,  obedience  rendered  to  my  commands  by 
this  eidolon  was  not  more  than  could  be  reasonably  expected 
of  any  but  a  superhuman  footman.  I  might  suppose  that  he 
was  above,  but  never  that  he  was  lel<m>,  humanity. 

On  the  other  hand,  whoever  puts  the  question  as  referring 
exclusively  to  himself,  must  receive  just  the  opposite  answer. 
According  to  all  the  evidence  which  is  here  available,  every 
man  is  to  himself  purely  an  ideal  being,  and  all  around  him 
is  ideal.  Matter  comes  not  near  him,  does  not  enter  into  his 
composition,  does  not  even  exist.  As  already  stated,  what  is 
physical  can  be  known  only  through  what  is  psychical.  You 
and  all  other  men,  my  own  body  included,  are  mere  impres- 
sions made  upon  my  mind,  mere  pictures  floating  before  my 
fancy.  Sun,  moon,  and  stars  are  nothing  to  me,  except  as 


140  DUALISM,    MATERIALISM,    OR   IDEALISM. 

bodiless  images  reflected  in  the  glass  of  my  consciousness. 
Perhaps  I  dreamed  of  you  last  night,  and  as  personages  in 
that  dream,  you  were  certainly  unreal  or  immaterial.  Who 
will  give  me  any  valid  assurance  that  I  am  not  merely  dream- 
ing of  you  now  ?  As  Leibnitz  said  long  ago,  "  It  is  only  by 
what  is  within  us,  that  we  have  any  knowledge  of  what  is  out- 
side." At  the  best,  the  existence  of  matter  as  such  is  only  an 
inference ;  it  is  never  known  immediately  and  in  itself,  but  we 
infer  that  it  exists  as  the  unknown  cause  of  the  sensations  in 
our  minds.  All  that  we  do  know  immediately,  as  distinct 
from  our  consciousness,  is  the  presence  of  a  resisting  Force,  a 
Power  not  ourselves,  with  which  we  come  directly  in  contact 
when  we  strike  hand  or  foot  against  what  is  outside  ;  and  this 
is  enough  to  assure  us  that  we  live  in  a  real  world,  peopled 
with  beings  like  ourselves.  But  that  this  foreign  agency,  this 
resisting  Force,  comes  from  dead  and  inert  particles  of  matter, 
is  a  mere  figment  of  the  imagination ;  it  is  a  crude  and  base- 

O  O  ' 

less  hypothesis.  Hence  there  is  a  contradiction  in  assuming, 
as  Kant  does,  that  both  external  and  internal  presentations  to 
consciousness  have  merely  phenomenal  truth,  both  in  the  same 
manner  and  to  the  same  degi-ee.  For  the  phenomenal  truth 
of  what  is  physical  presupposes  the  real  truth  of  what  is  psy- 
chical, the  former  being  known  only  through  the  latter  ;  that 
is,  if  the  psychical  event  wrere  not  a  real  and  direct  presenta- 
tion to  consciousness,  the  physical  phenomena  would  not  even 
appear.  I  may  reasonably  doubt  whether  the  picture  in  my 
mind  correctly  represents  an  external  reality  ;  but  I  cannot 
doubt  that  this  mental  picture  itself  is  an  internal  reality,  for 
its  presence  is  immediately  attended  by  consciousness.  To 
adopt  a  parallel  case,  the  accused  would  not  even  seem  to  be 
guilty,  if  circumstances  and  witnesses  did  not  actually  testify 
against  him.  As  Leibnitz  remarks,  "  There  may  be  intel- 
ligible reason  for  error  in  our  mediate  and  external  percep- 
tions ;  but  if  our  immediate  internal  experience  could  pos- 
sibly deceive  us,  there  could  not  be  for  us  any  truth  of  fact 
whatsoever." 

This  distinction  between  the  immediate  apprehension  of 
reality,  and  the  merely  phenomenal  presentation  of  it,  becomes 
more  important  when  we  pass  from  qualities  to  the  substance 


DUALISM,   MATERIALISM,    OR   IDEALISM.  141 

or  thing  in  which  those  qualities  are  supposed  to  inhere.  The 
substance  of  Matter  is  not  even  phenomenally  apprehended. 
It  does  not  even  appear  to  be.  It  lies  hid  behind  an  impen- 
etrable veil.  So  far  as  our  knowledge  of  it  is  concerned,  Mat- 
ter is  only  what  is  supposed  to  be  contained  in  a  husk  or  shell, 
which,  as  it  can  be  looked  at  only  from  the  outside,  may  be 
empty  for  all  that  we  know.  We  cannot  crack  the  nut,  so  as 
to  ascertain  whether  it  is  full  or  void.  All  its  qualities  are 
manifested  merely  at  its  surface,  and  can  never  be  known  to 
be  more  than  skin-deep.  Of  course,  what  we  term  Body  can 
be  indefinitely  subdivided.  But  the  atom  is  the  ultimate  ele- 
ment of  matter,  Body  being  merely  an  aggregate  of  atoms, 
each  of  which,  as  its  name  imports,  is  absolutely  indivisible 
and  absolutely  hard.  After  all,  the  atom  of  the  chemist  is  a 
mere  conception  of  the  mind  ;  it  is  too  minute  to  be  separately 
apprehended  by  the  senses,  and  is  properly  thought  only  as 
form  without  substance.  Hence  it  is  but  the  ghost  of  matter, 
and  that  which  is  exclusively  constituted  from  it  by  mere 
aggregation  is  equally  unsubstantial. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  substance,  here  called  the  Subject, 
of  psychical  phenomena  is  manifested  directly  and  in  itself, 
through  the  same  indivisible  act  of  consciousness  by  which  I 
apprehended  its  successive  states  or  attributes.  That  sentient 
and  thinking  Subject,  which  every  one  calls  "  I,"  or  Self,  is  an 
indispensable  factor  in  every  immediate  presentation  to  con- 
sciousness. A  sensation  or  thought  is  nothing  to  me  except 
so  far  as  I  am  conscious  of  it  as  mine,  —  that  is,  as  the  state 
or  condition  in  which  I  exist  for  that  moment.  What  I  am 
directly  conscious  of  is  not  an  abstraction,  such  as  a  sound  or 
a  color,  but  the  concrete  fact,  "  I  hear  the  sound,"  or  u  I  see 
the  color."  Neither  the  sound  nor  the  color  exists,  as  a  pres- 
ent reality,  if  it  is  not  now  perceived ;  and  it  cannot  be  per- 
ceived, except  I  am  conscious  of  Myself  as  perceiving  it ;  for 
there  is  no  perception  without  a  percipient,  no  action  without 
an  agent.  As  already  remarked,  I  have  not  a  phenomenal, 
but  an  immediate  and  intuitive,  knowledge  of  the  existence 
of  the  sensation  ;  and  from  what  has  now  been  stated,  it  nec- 
essarily follows  that  I  have  an  immediate  and  intuitive  knowl- 
edge of  Myself  as  sentient,  instead  of  having  merely  a  phe« 


142  DUALISM,    MATERIALISM,    OR   IDEALISM. 

noraenal  cognition  of  that  Self  through  its  manifestations,  or 
an  indirect  assurance  of  its  reality  by  inference  from  other 
cognitions. 

Still  further;  I  not  only  know  that  it  is,  but  also,  to  a  con- 
siderable extent,  I  know  w hat  it  is,  —  namely,  that  it  is  abso- 
lutely one  and  indivisible,  and  that  it  is  identical  with  itself 
throughout  its  successive  manifestations.  I  know  it  as  abso- 
lutely one  and  the  same  being  under  all  its  variety  of  aspects, 
and  in  all  the  remembered  stages  of  its  existence.  On  each 
of  these  points,  we  have  the  distinct  and  irrefragable  testimony 
of  conscience  as  well  as  of  consciousness.  No  one  ever  at- 
tempts to  divide  and  parcel  out  his  responsibility  for  any  act, 
either  as  between  different  portions  of  Himself  at  the  same 
time,  or  between  a  past  and  a  present  Self  as  distinct  beings 
at  different  times.  This,  indeed,  is  the  proper  idea  and  sig- 
nificance of  what  we  call  Personality,  that  it  is  constituted  by 
the  unity,  continuity,  and  identity  of  our  conscious  being.  It 
is  only  by  a  figure  of  speech,  and  that  a  somewhat  strained 
and  unnatural  one,  that  we  ever  speak  of  a  former  Self  as 
contradistinguished  in  any  way  whatsoever,  except  as  acting 
differently,  from  the  Self  now  present  to  consciousness.  Usu- 
ally, when  we  compare  one  thing  with  another  and  find  that 
they  perfectly  resemble  each  other,  we  say  that  they  are  not 
different,  but  the  same  ;  but  what  we  mean  is,  that  they  are 
merely  similar,  not  that  they  are  numerically  the  same.  Only 
in  this  figurative  and  limited  sense  do  we  say,  for  instance, 
that  the  speaker  uses  "  the  same  "  gesture,  or  utters  "  the 
same  "  word  ;  of  course,  they  are  not  numerically  the  same, 
each  being  the  result  of  a  second  and  distinct  act  of  muscular 
exertion.  But  it  is  only  by  a  metaphor  that  I  speak  of  compar- 
ing my  former  with  my  present  Self.  There  is  really  no  com- 
parison in  this  case,  since  what  are  called  two  are  immediately 
and  intuitively  perceived  to  be  one  and  the  same,  numerically 
the  same,  though  present  at  two  separate  times.  It  is  a  neces- 
sary and  intuitive  recognition  of  oneness  of  substance,  —  of 
the  absolute  identity  of  the  agent  in  two  distinct  acts.  That 
the  child  is  father  of  the  man,  is  but  half  the  truth  ;  so  far  as 
memory  extends,  the  child  is  the  man,  with  a  common  con- 
sciousness and  an  indivisible  responsibility.  Call  up  any  dis- 


DUALISM,    MATERIALISM,    OR   IDEALISM.  143 

tinctly  remembered  act  of  your  childhood,  perchance  a  repented 
one  of  wilfulness,  petulance,  or  sin,  and  try  to  convince  your- 
self that  you  are  not  the  same  being  who  did  it,  but  that  it  was 
the  act  of  another  Self  ;  or  even  that  you  are  only  in  part  the 
same,  and  in  part  different.  You  cannot  do  it.  The  interven- 
ing years  have  indeed  enlarged  your  knowledge,  altered  your 
habits,  and  increased  your  powers ;  but  the  piercing  eye  of 
consciousness  reveals  instinctively  and  at  once,  under  these 
phenomenal  changes,  the  unbroken  continuity  and  identity  of 
your  inmost  being,  your  real  Self. 

With  this  persistent  unity  and  sameness  of  the  thinking 
mind,  contrast  the  incessant  mutations  of  what  appears  as  our 
corporeal  organism.  Physiology  has  proved  beyond  all  ques- 
tion, that  my  body  is  kept  up  only  through  a  constant  process 
of  flux  and  renovation.  Throughout  every  portion  of  it,  waste 
and  repair,  excretion  and  accretion,  balance  each  other,  so 
that  every  tissue  is,  so  to  speak,  an  embodiment  of  change. 
We  cannot  descend  twice  into  the  same  river ;  no  two  days 
together  do  we  inhabit  the  same  body.  It  is  true  that  our 
mental  life  also  seems  to  survive  only  through  a  similar  inces- 
sant change  of  its.  states  of  consciousness.  But  in  both  cases, 
the  mutation  is  witnessed  and  measured,  so  to  speak,  by  what 
is  immutable  ;  just  as  the  flow  of  a  quiet  stream  can  be  de- 
tected and  estimated  only  by  its  drifting  past  a  rock  or  some 
immovable  object  on  its  banks.  The  conscious  Self,  one  and 
the  same  throughout  its  whole  remembered  history,  is  that 
which  beholds  all  change,  and  without  which  any  change 
would  be  imperceptible,  but  which,  in  itself,  is  as  immutable 
as  any  star  in  the  evening  sky.  A  river  of  thought  is  perpet- 
ually flowing  through  our  minds  ;  but  it  is  only  the  objects 
which  thus  flit  past,  like  rapidly  shifting  images  in  a  mirror, 
while  the  thinking  subject  is  the  steadfast  eye  which  beholds 
them  come  and  go.  Vainly  do  we  strive  to  arrest  what  in 
its  verv  nature  and  essence  is  so  fugitive.  What  we  call  the 
same  problem,  indeed,  the  same  knotty  subject  of  reflection, 
may  steadily  be  kept  in  view  through  long  hours  of  anxious 
pondering  and  research  ;  but  it  is  really  not  the  same  for  any 
two  successive  moments.  According  to  the  common  phrase, 
we  are  turning  it  over  in  our  minds,  so  that  it  is  perpetually 


144  DUALISM,    MATERIALISM,   OR   IDEALISM. 

appearing  under  a  novel  aspect,  and  in  altered  relations  to  the 
fresh  collateral  topics  which  are  ever  clustering  around  it 
and  dividing  our  attention.  So  we  may  hunt  the  same  game 
during  successive  hours  or  days ;  but  the  chase  constantly 
hurries  us  onward  into  regions  hitherto  unexplored,  fresh 
scenes  and  incidents  rising  around  us  at  every  moment.  The 
huntsman  is  the  same  all  the  while,  the  various  scenes  of  the 
landscape  through  which  he  rides  being  all  successively  pho- 
tographed and  compared  with  each  other  in  his  indivisible 
consciousness. 

The  essential  oneness  and  identity  of  the  thinking  Self  are 
necessarily  involved  and  presupposed  in  the  exercise  of  every 
function  of  thought.  The  mind  could  not  do  its  work,  if  it 
were  merely  a  shifting  aggregate  of  distinct  parts  ;  it  could 
not  reduce  plurality  to  unity  ;  to  adopt  the  phraseology  of 
Kant,  it  could  not  grasp  together  the  manifold  of  intuition 
into  the  unity  of  apprehension,  if  the  artificial  and  virtual  unit 
thus  formed  were  not  a  mere  reflection  of  the  absolute  sim- 
plicity and  unchangeableness  of  the  thinking  Subject.  Logic 
teaches  us,  that  the  intellect  is  necessarily  a  unifying  faculty. 
The  process  of  cognition  is  always  a  synthesis  —  a  putting  to- 
gether of  many  into  one,  through  comparing  the  elements  with 
each  other  and  discerning  their  mutual  relations  ;  and  this  is 
possible  only  because  the  understanding  is  one  and  the  same 
in  every  portion  of  its  work.  Even  the  simplest  act  of  percep- 
tion is  a  construction  of  the  plurality  of  parts  and  attributes 
of  the  perceived  object  into  one  whole,  whereby  we  recognize 
it  as  coming  under  a  previously  formed  concept,  and  therefore 
us  designated  by  a  name  common  to  it  with  other  individuals 
of  the  same  class.  But  if  the  mind  is  itself  a  manifold  without 
unity,  either  a  mere  bundle  of  sensations  or  a  series  of  isolated 
thoughts,  it  cannot  unite  the  disjecta  membra  of  experience 
into  an  object  of  cognition,  and  thus  knowledge  itself  becomes 
impossible. 

Let  me  illustrate  the  necessity  of  this  oneness  of  the  think- 
ing principle  a  little  farther.  Even  the  semblance  of  duality 
must  be  excluded.  Thus,  a  congenitallv  blind  person  and  an- 
other who  is  congenitallv  deaf,  merely  because  they  are  two 
distinct  individuals,  though  their  bodies  should  be  as  closely 


DUALISM,    MATERIALISM,    OR   IDEALISM.  145 

united  as  were  those  of  the  Siamese  twins,  cannot,  by  combin- 
ing their  information,  come  to  know  that  a  color  is  different 
from  a  sound.  Then  my  knowledge  that  these  two  distinct 
phenomena  of  sight  and  hearing  are  radically  unlike  each  other 
must  be  due  to  the  fact  that  I  am  one  and  the  same  person 
who  perceives  them  both.  Any  two  objects  or  two  sensations, 
in  order  that  they  may  be  compared  with  each  other,  must  be 
united  in  a  common  consciousness  ;  and  that  is  impossible,  ex- 
cept on  the  supposition  of  the  absolute  unity  of  that  conscious- 
ness. Hence,  I  can  never  be  sure  that  an  orange  raises  in 
your  mind  the  same  sensation  of  color  that  it  does  in  mine ; 
for  though  we  agree  to  call  it  by  the  same  name,  the  word  yel- 
low designates  in  either  case  only  the  peculiar  sensation  which 
each  of  us  receives  from  the  orange.  In  order  to  be  sure  that 
your  sensation  so  designated  perfectly  resembles  mine,  I  must 
not  only  get  inside  your  skull  and  look  out  through  your  eyes, 
but  I  must  be  melted  and  absorbed  into  your  self-conscious- 
ness ;  we  must  cease  to  be  two  and  become  one. 

Both  the  doctrine  and  the  argument  here  are  far  from  new, 
but  were  clearly  and  forcibly  presented  by  Plato  in  the  "  Theae- 
tetus,"  and  again  by  Aristotle,  from  whom  they  were  adopted 
by  Descartes,  though  the  physiologists  of  our  own  day  seem  to 
have  lost  sight  of  them  altogether.  I  borrow  in  part  Professor 
Archer  Butler's  exposition  of  the  reasoning  of  Aristotle  upon 
this  point.  There  must  be,  he  argues,  one  receptacle  —  a  com- 
mon and  higher  sense,  which  brings  together  the  special  per- 
ceptions of  the  several  distinct  senses,  so  as  to  harmonize  them 
into  one  system  of  knowledge  through  discerning  their  mutual 
relations  :  TU>V  L&IWV  aicrQiffrripitav  'iv  TL  KOIVOV  ecrriv  ala-dr/njpLov,  ets  o 
ras  KO.T'  ivepyeiav  a'<j$r;cre(.<;  ai  ay/<atov  airavrav.  "  The  differences  of 
things  sensible  must  be  apprehended  by  sense.  Yet  this  de- 
tector of  differences  cannot  be  any  peculiar  or  special  sense 
among  the  five  external  ones,  for  each  can  but  perceive  its  own 
object,  and  none  can  compare  with  the  rest ;  oure  Ke^wptcr/xeVots 
ei'Se^erat  Kpnetr.  It  can  no  more  be  effected  by  distinct  senses, 
than  by  distinct  persons.  There  must  then  be  some  single 
faculty  of  sensation,  the  common  judge  of  all.  Nor,  again,  can 
the  objects  be  presented  to  the  sense  in  different  times,  any 
more  than  by  different  organs,  if  a  single  indivisible  iudgment 

i/O  JO 

10 


146  DUALISM,   MATERIALISM,    OR   IDEALISM. 

is  to  be  pronounced  ;  the  two  objects  must  be  included  in  the 
one  instantaneous  judgment.  Only  if  A  and  B  are  both  sim- 
ultaneously present  to  consciousness,  can  I  judge  that  A  is  B. 
Hence,  there  must  exist  some  common  centre  of  sensation,  in 
which  all  the  sensations  of  all  the  senses  are  received  and  com- 
pared." 

Take  now  the  confident  assertions  of  the  Materialists,  and 
see  how  incompetent  they  are  to  grasp  the  fundamental  con- 
ditions of  the  problem  which  they  undertake  to  solve.  "  By 
the  study  of  physiology,"  says  Dr.  Maudsley,  "  it  has  been 
placed  beyond  doubt,"  [observe  the  magisterial  dogmatism  of 
affirmation,  it  has  been  placed  beyond  doubt,']  "  that  the  nerve- 
cells,  which  exist  in  countless  numbers  —  about  six  hundred 
millions  in  number,  according  to  Meynert's  calculations  —  in 
the  gray  matter  spread  over  the  surface  of  the  hemispheres,  are 
the  nervous  centres  of  ideas"  It  is  satisfactory  to  know  that 
we  have  so  large  a  number  of  ideas  on  hand  for  the  further- 

o 

ance  of  our  intellectual  labors,  though  it  is  somewhat  remarka- 
ble that  the  brain  of  any  clown,  having  the  ordinary  amount  of 
gray  matter  covering  it,  is  about  as  richly  furnished  with  them 
as  that  of  a  Newton  or  a  Leibnitz.  With  equally  unfaltering 
assurance,  Dr.  Maudsley  proceeds  to  inform  us,  that  the  cerebral 
hemispheres  "  are  superadded  in  man  and  the  higher  animals 
for  the  further  fashioning  of  sensory  impressions  into  ideas  or 
conceptions.""  But  each  sensation  is  particular  and  individual, 
representing  only  the  one  object  or  quality  by  which  it  is  im- 
printed on  the  sense  ;  while  the  idea  or  concept  is  general, 
standing  for  a  whole  class  of  objects  or  attributes,  to  each  of 
which  it  bears  a  definite  relation.  Remembered  experience  of 
an  indefinite  number  of  particular  things  belontrino;  to  this  class 

J.  O  O          O 

is  therefore  needed  to  constitute  the  idea  ;  and  how  is  such  ex- 
perience possible,  how  can  many  memories  be  garnered  up  in 
one  thought,  except  through  the  unifying  action  of  one  think- 
ing principle  which  originally  witnessed  them  all  ?  Memory 
is  possible  only  on  the  supposition  of  the  continuous  identity 
of  him  who  remembers.  My  testimony  as  an  eye-witness  of 
what  took  place  yesterday  or  a  week  ago  is  admissible  only  on 
the  ground  that  I  am  still  the  same  being  who  beheld  the  oc- 
currence. In  like  manner,  the  presence  of  countless  ideas  in 


DUALISM,    MATERIALISM,    OR   IDEALISM.  147 

my  bruin,  each  enshrined  in  its  own  nerve-cell,  would  avail  me 
nothing,  except  so  far  as  every  one  of  them  is  distinctly  recog- 
nized as  mine,  or  as  the  phase  for  the  moment  of  my  indivisi- 
ble consciousness.  I  must  exert  a  coordinating  power  over 
them,  discerning  their  relations  to  each  other,  separating  and 
combining  them,  and  thus  elaborating  them  into  distinct  trains 
of  thought  and  orderly  systems  of  knowledge.  Otherwise,  the 
presence  in  my  brain  of  a  crude  mass  of  details  mechanically 
imprinted  at  haphazard  on  the  gray  matter  there,  and  each 
isolated  on  its  own  nerve-centre,  would  generate  only  confusion, 
and  leave  me  just  as  helpless  and  impotent  as  if  my  mind  were 
a  blank. 

One  is  not  surprised,  then,  to  find  Dr.  Maudsley,  on  the  very 
next  page  of  his  book,  frankly  admitting  that  his  whole  theory 
is  a  blank  hypothesis,  without  a  shred  of  evidence  in  its  favor. 
"  So  exquisitely  delicate,"  he  says,  "  are  the  organic  processes 
of  mental  development  which  take  place  in  the  nerve-centres 
of  the  cortical  layers,  that  they  are  certainly,  so  far  as  our  pres- 
ent means  of  investigation  reach,  quite  impenetrable  to  the 
senses  ;  the  mysteries  of  their  secret  operations  cannot  be  un- 
ravelled ;  they  are  like  nebulas  which  no  telescope  can  yet  re- 
solve. Nor  will  it  be  thought  reasonable  to  ask  such  knowledge, 
when  we  reflect  that  we  have  not  yet  the  means  of  knowing 
the  properties  and  structure  of  the  molecule  of  any  liquid  or 
solid  —  what  are  its  internal  motions  and  what  are  the  parts 
and  shape  of  it."  Then  the  senses,  even  when  aided  by  the 
highest  powers  of  the  microscope,  tell  us  nothing  about  what 
is  taking  place  within  any  one  of  the  six  hundred  millions  of 
the  nerve  cells.  They -do  not  enable  us  to  see  the  ideas  therein 
contained  ;  and  even  if  the  ideas  were  like  colored  bits  of  glass, 
perceptible  by  sense,  (which  they  certainly  are  not,)  there 
would  still  be  needed  an  eye,  one  common  power  of  vision,  to 
behold  them  there.  Consciousness,  pure  and  simple,  the  only 
other  organ  of  knowledge  which  we  possess,  surely  does  not 
teach  us  anything  whatever  about  the  physical  constitution  of 
the  brain.  The  ideas  themselves  tell  us  nothing  about  their 

O 

local  habitation  within  the  skull.  But  if  neither  the  senses 
nor  consciousness,  our  sole  means  of  information,  give  us  any 
testimony  on  the  subject,  how  comes  it  to  be  '-placed  beyond 


148  DUALISM,    MATERIALISM,   OR   IDEALISM. 

doubt "  that,  within  the  gray  matter  of  the  brain,  are  found 
"the  nervous  centres  of  ideas  "as  distinguished  from  sensations, 
and  that  the  cerebral  hemispheres  in  man  and  the  higher  ani- 
mals are  organized  for  the  very  purpose  of  "  fashioning  sensory 
impressions  into  ideas  or  conceptions  "  ? 

One  of  the  highest  authorities  in  physiology,  Prof.  Huxley, 
though  he  has  a  strong  bias  towards  materialism,  frankly  ad- 
mits, that  "there  is  no  satisfactory  proof  at  present  that  the 
manifestation  of  any  particular  kind  of  mental  faculty  is  spe- 
cially allotted  to,  or  connected  with,  the  activity  of  any  partic- 
ular region  of  the  cerebral  hemispheres." 

We  understand  what  is  said  to  us  only  on  condition  of  re- 
membering the  earlier  uttered  half  of  the  sentence,  while  we  are 
hearing  the  later  half.  Even  if  each  of  these  halves  has  its 
separate  locality,  the  indivisible  coordinating  mind  must  still 
bring  them  together  and  apprehend  them  as  a  unit,  before  the 
meaning  of  the  sentence  as  a  whole  becomes  intelligible  ;  other- 
wise, each  half  might  as  well  be  whispered  separately,  under 
strict  injunctions  of  secrecy,  to  the  two  Siamese  twins. 

In  the  seventeenth  century,  the  favorite  hypothesis  for  ex- 
plaining the  intercourse  of  mind  with  body  was  that  of  "  the 
animal  spirits,"  -  —  fluids  far  more  subtile  than  the  lightest  gas, 
which  permeate  the  brain  and  swiftly  traverse  the  conduits  of 
the  nerves,  and  thereby  harmonize  and  transmit  the  activities 
of  the  intellect  and  the  will.  Then  Dr.  Hartley  set  forth  his 
doctrine  of  the  vibrations  and  vilratiuncles  of  the  substance  of 
the  nerves,  which  appears  still  to  be  the  favorite  theory  of  the 
German  materialists.  Somewhat  later,  electricity  travelling 
along  the  nerves,  and  stimulating  the  action  of  the  brain,  be- 
came the  deus  ex  machind,  the  motive-power  of  the  machine, 
and  is  still  frequently  appealed  to  as  explanatory  of  psychical 
processes.  Then  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer  applies  to  chemical  af- 
finities for  an  explanation  of  the  problem,  and  conceives  mental 
processes  as  repeated  acts  of  resolving  and  reconstituting  mole- 
cules in  a  condition  of  unstable  equilibrium.  "Nerve-centres 
disintegrated  by  action,"  he  says,  "  are  perpetually  reintegrat- 
ing themselves,  and  again  becoming  fit  for  action  ;  "  and  hence 
with  unhesitating  assurance,  though  without  a  particle  of  evi- 
dence, he  announces  his  foreordained  conclusion,  "  we  have 


DUALISM,   MATERIALISM,    OR   IDEALISM.  149 

good  reason  to  conclude  that,  at  the  particular  place  in  a  supe- 
rior nervous  centre,  where,  in  some  mysterious  way,  an  object- 
ive change  or  nervous  action  causes  a  subjective  change  or  feel- 
ing, there  exists  a  quantitative  equivalence  between  the  two." 
Quantitative  equivalence  indeed !  But  then  whence  comes  the 
difference  in  quality  between  one  thought  and  another ;  be- 
tween the  inspired  creations  of  genius  and  the  platitudes  of  a 
clown?  Since  the  chemical  see-saw  of  setting  up  nerve-mole- 
cules in  the  brain,  and  knocking  them  down  again,  is  essen- 
tially and  forever  the  same,  like  atoms  always  forming  like 
compounds,  it  ought  to  produce  "precisely  the  same  result  in  a 
grave-digger's  skull  as  in  a  Hamlet's.  In  fact,  why  should  not 
one  and  the  same  thought  be  reiterated  forever,  since  two  atoms 
of  hydrogen  with  one  of  oxygen  never  yield  anything  but 
pure  water  ?  A  later  authority  than  Mr.  Spencer  discourses 
about  "  the  peculiar  discharge  of  undulatory  motion  between 
cerebral  ganglia,  that  uniformly  accompanies  a  feeling  or  state 
of  consciousness."  But  no  microscope  ever  disclosed  any  un- 
dulatory movement  whatever  in  the  brain  ;  and  the  doctrine 
of  the  concomitance  of  any  such  action  with  the  processes  of 
abstract  thought  is  as  purely  fanciful  as  the  Cartesian  hypothe- 
sis of  the  circulation  of  "  the  animal  spirits." 

All  conjectures  of  this  sort  are  crude,  unmeaning,  and  un- 
scientific. They  contradict  each  other,  they  are  entirely  devoid 
of  evidence,  and  they  throw  no  light  whatever  upon  the  prob- 
lem in  hand,  which  is  the  nature  of  the  connection  between  the 
body  and  the  mind.  Of  course,  such  a  connection  exists,  for 
man  is  a  thinking  animal,  that  is,  a  dual  being  ;  and  this  con- 
nection takes  place  through  the  nervous  system,  by  means  of 
which  impressions  on  the  senses  and  volitions  are  transmitted 
between  the  outer  surface  and  the  consciousness.  But  dissec- 
tion of  the  nervous  system  can  never  discover  the  particular 
point  in  it  which  is  the  presence-chamber  of  the  thinking-Self, 
such  as  Descartes  thought  he  found  in  the  pineal  gland  ;  for 
as  Mind  is  not  a  mode  either  of  extension  or  motion,  it  has  no 
relation  to  place  ;  and  consciousness  tells  us  that  it  is,  in  fact, 
ubiquitous  to  the  whole  nervous  organism.  It  is  wherever  it 
acts  and  feels  ;  for  it  is  a  contradiction  that  anything  should 
act  where  it  is  not  —  that  is,  should  get  outside  of  itself,  or 


150  DUALISM,    MATERIALISM,    OR   IDEALISM. 

jump  out  of  its  own  skin.  Such  action  would  be  like  that  as- 
cribed to  Baron  Miinchhausen,  who  lifted  himself  out  of  the 
river  by  his  own  pigtail  —  that  is,  he  got  out  of  himself.  Now, 
as  long  as  the  connection  of  the  parts  with  each  other  remains 
inviolate,  I  do  unquestionably  act  and  feel  throughout  every 
ganglion  and  fibre  of  my  whole  nervous  system,  usually  with 
consciousness,  though  sometimes  unconsciously.  Then  I  am 
actually  present,  in  propria  persona,  in  the  tips  of  my  fingers, 
wherewith  I  feel  my  pen,  and  write  this  sentence  ;  in  the  ner- 
vous papillae  which  line  my  mouth,  wherewith  I  taste,  but  not 
wherewith  my  tongue  and  palate  taste  —  for  they  are  material 
and  insentient,  sensation  proper  being  surely  the  prerogative 
of  mind  alone.  Sensation  is  not  double  ;  my  palate  does  not 
first  taste,  and  then,  afterwards  and  as  a  consequence,  I  taste ; 
but  I  taste  through  my  palate.  Such  is  the  testimony  of  con- 
sciousness, surely.  In  like  manner,  I  am  present  in  the  retina 
of  my  organ  of  vision,  where  I  behold  colors,  and  not  where 
my  eyeball  beholds  them,  for  that  is  in  front  of  the  retina  and 
distinct  from  it,  so  that  it  is  merely  my  organ  or  telescope. 

Moreover,  this  omnipresence  of  the  thinking  Self  to  its 
whole  nervous  organism  is  not  effected  through  diffusion,  or  by 
partition  and  separate  allotment,  one  portion  of  it  being  here 
and  another  portion  there.  But  because  it  is  absolutely  one 
and  indivisible,  it  is  all  in  every  part  ;  it  spreads  undivided, 
operates  unspent.  Thus  it  is  that  the  relation  of  the  human 
Soul  to  the  limited  theatre  of  its  own  activities  typifies  the  re- 
lation of  the  Infinite  One  to  the  universe.  Each  fills  with  an 
undivided  presence  the  whole  sphere  of  its  being  :  t;  Whither 
shall  I  go  from  thy  spirit  ?  or  whither  shall  I  flee  from  thy 
presence  ?  If  I  ascend  up  into  heaven,  thou  art  there  ;  if  I 
make  my  bed  in  hell,  behold,  thou  art  there.  If  I  take  the 
wings  of  the  morning,  and  dwell  in  the  uttermost  parts  of  the 
sea  :  even  there  shall  thy  hand  lead  me,  and  thy  right  hand 
shall  hold  me.''  What  is  meant  by  the  distinction  of  our 
several  faculties  is  but  a  verbal  difference,  —  is  a  mere  con- 
venience for  classifvino;  the  successive  or  simultaneous  acts  of 

«,  O 

one  and  the  same  being.  It  is  not  my  intellect  which  thinks, 
but  I  think.  It  is  not  my  will  which  energizes,  but  I  act  ;  and 
I  am  solely  responsible  for  the  whole  act  throughout  all  time. 


DUALISM,    MATKRIALISM,    OR   IDEALISM.  151 

It  is  not  my  nerves  which  are  sentient,  but  I  feel  through 
them,  and  compel  them,  as  my  ministers,  to  do  my  bidding. 
It  is  not  the  eye  that  sees,  or  the  ear  that  hears,  but  one  in- 
divisible spirit,  Myself,  which  is  percipient  through  these 
organs,  and  sums  up  its  own  various  activities  in  one  act  of 
cognition,  and  its  .successive  states  of  consciousness  in  one  re- 
membrance. A  vibration  of  the  nerve,  as  well  as  of  the  air  or 
the  ether,  may  precede  the  audible  or  visual  sensation  ;  but 
the  vibration  is  not  the  sensation,  for  it  does  not,  like  that, 
rise  into  consciousness.  The  vibration  is  a  phase  or  mode  of 
motion  and  extension,  being  inconceivable  without  both  ;  but 
a  state  of  consciousness  obstinately  refuses  to  include  either. 
What  is  the  shape,  or  size,  or  velocity  of  love  or  hate,  of  bit- 
terness or  sourness,  of  anxiety  or  benevolence,  or  abstract 
thought  ?  We  see  at  once  that  the  question  is  meaningless 
and  absurd. 

This  doctrine  has  been  illustrated,  with  his  usual  wit  and 
eloquence,  by  Mr.  Raskin.  "  It  is  quite  true,"  he  says,  "  that 
the  tympanum  of  the  ear  vibrates  under  sound,  and  that  the 
surface  of  the  water  in  a  ditch  vibrates,  too  :  but  the  ditch 
hears  nothing  for  all  that ;  and  my  hearing  is  still  to  me  as 
blessed  a  mystery  as  ever,  and  the  interval  between  the  ditch 
and  me  quite  as  great.  If  the  trembling  sound  in  my  ears 
was  once  of  the  marriage-bell  which  began  my  happiness,  and 
is  now  of  the  passing  bell  which  ends  it,  the  difference  between 
these  two  sounds  to  me  cannot  be  counted  by  the  number 
of  concussions.  There  have  been  some  curious  speculations 
lately,  as  to  the  conveyance  of  mental  consciousness  by  '  brain- 
waves.' What  does  it  matter  how  it  is  conveyed  ?  The  con- 
sciousness itself  is  not  a  wave.  It  may  be  accompanied  here 
or  there  by  any  quantity  of  quivers  and  shakes,  up  or  down, 
of  anything  you  can  find  in  the  universe  that  is  sliakable  ; 
what  is  that  to  me?  My  friend  is  dead,  and  my  —  according 
to  modern  views  —  vibratory  sorrow  is  not  one  whit  less,  or 
less  mysterious  to  me,  than  my  old  quiet  one."  Even  if  we 
grant  the  concomitance  of  the  two  phenomena,  the  question 
still  remains,  which  is  cause  and  which  is  effect.  What  better 
right  have  you  to  say,  that  the  vibration  produced  the  sorrow, 
than  I  have  to  ailirm,  that  the  consciousness  of  sorrow  caused 


152  DUALISM,    MATERIALISM,    OR   IDEALISM. 

the  vibration  ?  Surely,  it  is  not  the  suffusion  of  blood  into 
the  cheeks  and  neck,  which  rouses  in  my  mind  the  feeling  of 
shame,  but  it  is  the  consciousness  of  shame  which  calls  up  the 
blush.  Wherein,  then,  can  observation  of  the  physical  phe- 
nomenon throw  any  light  on  the  nature  of  the  psychical  state 
which  precedes  it  ? 

All  these  attempts  to  imagine  some  refined  and  subtile 
processes  of  mechanism  or  chemistry  taking  place  within  the 
skull,  wherewith  to  bridge  over  the  abyss  between  matter  and 
thought,  to  make  matter  seem  more  spiritual  and  thought 
more  gross,  just  as  we  try  to  approximate  black  to  white  by 
running  through  all  the  shades  of  gray,  are  but  labor  thrown 
away.  You  cannot  fill  up  by  intermediate  steps  the  boundless 
interval  between  a  molecule  and  an  idea ;  you  cannot  trans- 
mute joys  and  anxieties  into  fluids,  or  judgment  and  invention 
into  the  swing  of  a  pendulum  ;  for  they  are  not  in  eodem 
genere.  Maudsley's  attempt  to  pack  distinct  ideas  into  sepa- 
rate nerve-cells,  and  then  to  call  them  into  more  vivid  activity 
by  pulling  some  nerve-fibre  like  a  string,  is  akin  only  to  the 
folly  of  a  child,  who  stuffs  its  doll  with  sawdust,  and  "  makes- 
believe  "  that  it  is  hushing  a  live  baby  to  sleep.  The  mere 
concomitance  of  a  mental  act  with  a  physical  change  proves 
nothing,  and  throws  no  light  on  the  subject;  for  there  are 
many  processes  going  on  simultaneously  all  the  time  in  the 
brain  —  such  as  the  circulation  of  the  blood,  the  wear  and  re- 
placement of  tissues,  chemical  changes,  the  jar  of  atoms  —  any 
one  of  which  is  just  as  invariably  concomitant  as  any  other 
with  the  processes  of  pure  thought.  As  the  heart  and  the  ar- 
teries are  constantly  pumping  a  rush  of  blood  into  and  through 
my  brain,  and  pumping  it  out  again,  why  not  identify  that 
circulation  with  the  ever-flowing  river  of  thought,  by  the  side 
of  which  my  consciousness  watches  and  waits  ?  Why  not, 
indeed,  save  for  the  reason  that  a  blood-corpuscle  no  more  re- 
sembles an  idea,  than  the  sound  of  a  trumpet  is  like  the  color 
blue  or  scarlet  ?  The  two  things  are  utterly  disparate  —  so 
hopelessly  unlike,  that  to  mention  them  in  the  same  breath  is 
an  absurdity. 

Let  us  turn,  then,  to  another  mechanical  hypothesis,  which 
is  a  very  old  one,  though  it  has  recently  been  revived  and 


DUALISM,    MATERIALISM,    OR   IDEALISM.  153 

adorned  with  the  fine  fancy  and  abundant  physiological  knowl- 
edge of  Dr.  O.  W.  Holmes;  to  the  supposition  "that  memory 
is  a  material  record  ;  that  the  brain  is  scarred  and  seamed  with 
infinitesimal  hieroglyphics,  as  the  features  are  engraved  with  the 
traces  of  thought  and  passion."  But  wherein  am  I  any  the 
better  off  from  having  an  image,  say  of  the  battle  of  Gettys- 
burg, stamped  on  my  brain,  than  from  having  one  engraved  and 
hung  up  on  the  wall  of  my  study  ?  In  either  case,  the  picture 
becomes  significant  only  so  far  as  it  is  beheld  by  an  eye  which 
looks  at  it,  and  by  an  indivisible  thinking  Self  which  contem- 
plates its  parts  in  their  due  relations  to  each  other,  and  the 
whole  in  its  relations  to  the  foregoing  and  the  subsequent  his- 
tory of  my  country.  There  is  no  bodily  eye,  no  corporeal 
organ  of  vision,  inside  of  the  skull,  to  behold  the  picture  there 
written  or  stamped  on  the  surface  of  the  brain  ;  and  it  is  only 
by  apprehending  these  relations  of  the  depicted  event  to  the 
past  and  the  future,  that  it  really  becomes  known.  And  surely 
these  relations,  as  they  cannot  be  either  perceived  by  sense  or 
represented  by  imagination,  as  they  have  no  shape,  or  color,  or 
any  other  sensible  quality,  can  be  apprehended  only  by  pure 
abstract  thought,  without  the  intervention  of  any  mechanical 
or  chemical  process  whatsoever.  That  was  not  properly  the 
field  of  Gettysburg  which  could  be  beheld  by  the  eye  of  a  horse 
or  a  dog,  just  as  well  as  by  that  of  a  man.  As  regarded  by  a 
student  of  the  world's  history,  the  great  determining  fight  be- 
tween the  North  and  the  South  was  something  which  could 
neither  be  depicted  on  canvas,  nor  imprinted  on  the  pulpy  sur- 
face of  the  brain. 

The  remark  is  as  old  as 'Aristotle,  that  each  of  the  five  senses 
is  only  a  modification  of  the  sense  of  touch.  Now  the  merely 
physical  result  of  this  touch  or  impact  must  be  always  the 
same  ;  it  is  only  a  jar  of  atoms,  whether  made  on  one  nerve  or 
another.  But  the  percipient  mind  differentiates  these  separate 
concussions  easily  enough,  and  thereby  acquires  the  varied 
material,  the  distinct  data,  of  knowledge.  Touch  or  agitate 
my  optic  nerve,  and  I  see  ;  touch  my  auditory  nerve,  and  I 
hear  ;  touch  my  olfactory  nerve,  and  I  smell.  Between  the 
mere  jar  of  atoms,  which,  in  either  of  these  cases,  is  the  only 
physical  consequent  of  the  touch,  and  the  mental  sensation 


154  DUALISM,   MATERIALISM,    OR   IDEALISM. 

which  is  simultaneous  with  it,  there  is  as  wide  a  difference  as 
between  an  image  in  a  mirror  and  one  who  sees  that  image. 
Because  all  physical  phenomena  are  modes  exclusively  of  ex- 
tension and  motion,  all  the  differences  by  which  they  are  dis- 
tinguishable from  each  other  can  be  expressed  in  terms  of 
mere  quantity.  It  is  all  a  question  of  more  or  less.  Any  one 
phenomenon  has  more  or  less  extension  than  another,  more  or 
less  velocity,  more  or  less  permanence,  has  more  or  fewer  parts, 
and  so  forth.  But  in  the  world  of  sensations  and  ideas,  far  the 
most  numerous  and  important  distinctions  are  those  of  quality. 
In  looking  at  the  same  landscape,  the  poet  and  the  painter 
may  not  actually  see  more  than  the  clown  ;  but  they  have  a 
keener  discernment,  a  nicer  sense  of  what  is  fitting  or  beautiful, 
a  fuller  appreciation  of  harmony,  a  more  lively  perception  of 
analogies,  a  richer  store  of  associated  ideas.  And  when  we 
pass  into  the  realm  of  pure  imagination  and  abstract  thought, 
this  distinction  between  persons  becomes  world- wide.  The 
man  of  genius  does  not  necessarily  think  faster  than  other 
people  ;  he  may  not  have  more  ideas  in  a  given  time.  But  he 
has  better  ones.  His  thoughts  instruct  and  improve  the 
world,  form  the  minds  of  coming  generations,  and  change  the 
course  of  history.  As  merely  the  inside  aspect  of  physical 
changes  in  the  brain,  as  the  mechanical  or  chemical  action  of 
the  molecules  of  nervous  substance,  I  cannot  even  imagine  any 
difference  between  the  work  of  an  accountant  summing  up 
columns  of  figures,  and  that  of  a  Newton  or  a  Laplace,  —  be- 
tween the  poetry  of  Martin  F.  Tupper  and  that  of  John  Mil- 
ton. And  if  we  compare  men  only  with  their  peers,  the 
differences  between  them,  resulting  from  their  respective  idio- 
syncrasies, are  still  countless  and  obvious,  and  inexplicable  on 
any  hypothesis  of  the  Materialist. 

One  of  the  most  eminent  physicists  in  England,  Prof.  P.  G. 
Tait,  remarks :  "  To  say  that  even  the  very  lowest  form  of  life, 
not  to  speak  of  its  higher  forms,  still  less  of  volition  and  con- 
sciousness, can  be  fully  explained  on  physical  principles  alone 
—  that  is.  by  the  mere  relative  motions  and  interactions  of  por- 
tions of  inanimate  matter,  however  refined  and  sublimated,  — 
is  simply  unscientific.  There  is  absolutely  nothing  known  in 
physical  science  which  can  lend  the  slightest  support  to  such  an 


DUALISM,    MATERIALISM,    OR   IDEALISM.  155 

idea."  Compare  this  clear  and  forcible  statement  with  the  as- 
sertion already  quoted  from  Dr.  Maudsley,  and  "  placed  beyond 
doubt  "  by  him  and  his  whole  school  of  physiological  psycholo- 
gists, and  tell  me  which  of  the  two  savans  is  merely  indulging 
in  a  midsummer-night's  dream,  and  which  presents  only  the 
simple  and  unvarnished  fact. 

In  beginning  a  study  of  the  connection  between  physical  and 
psychical  phenomena,  men  are  naturally  misled  through  their 
previous  experience  into  setting  up  a  false  standard  of  reality 
and  a  false  measure  of  certainty.  We  come  to  the  inquiry 
with  a  strongly  preconceived  opinion  that  the  only  unquestion- 
able reality  is  that  of  material  objects,  which  can  be  touched, 
measured,  and  weighed  ;  that  speculative  truths  must  always 
be  referred  to  a  standard  of  tangible  facts  ;  and  that  the  only 
evidence  which  cannot  be  impeached  is  the  testimony  of  the 
senses.  This  is  because  the  exigencies  of  our  compound  life 
impose  upon  us  unceasing  labor,  in  order  to  provide  for  the 
mere  physical  wants  of  the  body.  We  must  be  housed,  clothed, 
and  fed ;  through  agencies  which  are  in  great  part  of  a  mate- 
rial nature,  through  incessant  physical  efforts,  we  must  keep 
up  our  intercourse  with  our  fellow-men  and  cooperate  with 
them  in  common  enterprises.  Even  when  some  of  the  means 
for  these  ends  are  psychical,  as  in  the  communication  of  feel- 
ing and  thought,  the  practical  results  by  which  success  is  meas- 
ured are  generally  physical.  Hence  we  are  deluded  into 
thinking  that  Matter  is  the  only  real  object,  that  mental  phe- 
nomena are  but  unsubstantial  counterfeits  of  what  actually  ex- 
ists, and  that  the  senses  are  the  sole  inlets  of  what  is  properly 
called  knowledge.  But  these  illusions  only  show  that  we  bring 
with  us  to  our  higher  meditations  what  Lord  Bacon  expres- 
sively calls  "  the  rust  and  the  tarnish  of  the  furnace,"  the  cor- 
rupting or  blinding  influence  of  the  petty  occupations  of  our 
daily  lives.  We  are  too  much  the  slaves  of  our  senses,  and 
through  them  are  too  often  engrossed  with  material  things.  I 
know  of  nothing  more  degrading  or  unphilosophical  than  such 
enslavement  to  flesh  and  sense. 

Compare  deliberately  the  two  worlds  in  which  we  live,  the 
one  of  Matter  and  the  other  of  Mind,  and  say  which  presents 
the  stronger  evidence  of  reality,  and  which  is  more  immediately 


156  DUALISM,    MATERIALISM,    OR   IDEALISM. 

and  certainly  known.  As  already  stated,  what  is  physical  is 
known  only  through  what  is  psychical,  and  our  immediate  life 
and  action  never  pass  the  bounds  of  our  ideal  world.  Matter, 
at  best,  is  apprehended  only  indirectly  and  by  inference  ;  it  is 
never  immediately  presented  to  consciousness.  It  is  only  a 
supposition,  the  unknown  cause  of  a  known  effect.  We  are 
conscious  of  the  sensible  impression,  but  not  of  the  material 
object  which  is  supposed  to  produce  that  impression.  We  hear 
the  sounds,  but  we  do  not  directly  hear  the  bell  or  the  cart  rat- 
tling in  the  street ;  that  is  an  acquired  knowledge,  dependent 
on  foregoing  experience.  We  see  the  light,  but  do  not  see  the 
sun,  for  that  is  more  than  ninety  millions  of  miles  off.  And  the 
light,  as  distinct  from  the  physical  vibration,  is  only  a  second- 
ary quality,  —  that  is,  it  exists  and  is  visible  only  within  the 
limits  of  consciousness.  The  senses  are  perpetually  leading  us 
astray,  if  not  through  rendering  false  testimony,  at  least 
through  enticing  us  to  found  erroneous  conclusions  upon  that 
testimony.  The  first  lesson  which  even  physical  science  has  to 
teach  is,  to  distrust  the  immediate  evidence  of  the  senses,  as  too 
often  they  confound  the  apparent  with  the  real,  the  near  with 
the  remote,  the  visible  with  the  tangible  phenomena.  At  best, 
they  furnish  only  the  crude  data  of  knowledge  ;  and  it  is  only 
as  tested  and  cross-examined  by  the  intellect,  that  what  they 
report  can  become  a  basis  for  science  properly  so  called.  I  have 
already  adverted  to  the  fact  that  sensations  are  properly  incom- 
municable and  strictly  peculiar  to  him  who  has  them,  so  that 
we  can  never  be  sure  that  they  are  the  same  for  different  ob- 
servers. Sometimes,  as  in  the  case  of  color-blindness,  a  dis- 
crepancy in  their  testimony  can  be  demonstrated. 

But  the  truths  which  are  intuitively  discerned  by  pure  intel- 
lect acting  d  priori,  and  independently  of  the  evidence  of  the 
senses,  are  necessarily  recognized  as  valid,  not  only  for  him  who 
now  thinks  them,  but  at  all  times  and  for  all  mankind.  They 
are  not  derived  from  experience,  but  are  absolute  laws  which 
govern  all  experience,  and  so  are  irreversible,  even  in  thought. 
As  Leibnitz  expresses  it,  they  are  what  God  eternally  thinks, 
and  therefore  cannot  be  abrogated  even  by  Omnipotence. 
Created  things,  for  the  very  reason  that  they  were  created,  are 
contingent,  and  necessarily  depend  on  the  good-will  and  pleas- 


DUALISM,    MATERIALISM,    OR   IDEALISM.  157 

ure  of  Him  who  made  them.  But  the  true  and  the  good, 
including  all  the  relations  of  pure  ideas,  are  coeternal  with  the 
Infinite  Mind  whose  perfections  they  express,  and  therefore  lie 
outside  of  the  region  within  which  alone  power  is  applicable. 
To  suppose  that  they  could  be  abrogated  would  be  to  suppose 
that  the  Deity  should  act  contrary  to  his  own  nature  —  that  is, 
that  he  should  cease  to  be  God.  As  I  have  elsewhere  said,  to 
ask  if  the  Almighty  could  annihilate  space,  or  stop  the  flight  of 
time,  or  contradict  the  truths  of  pure  mathematics,  or  reverse 
the  obligations  of  the  moral  law,  is  to  ask  if  God  could  anni- 
hilate Himself.  Very  marvellous  is  it  that  the  human  mind, 
limited  and  imperfect  as  it  is  in  all  other  respects,  should  have 
been  enabled  thus  to  rise  to  an  intuition  of  these  immutable 
and  transcendent  truths  ;  and  pitiable  must  any  attempt  appear 
to  resolve  such  intuition  into  a  phenomenon  of  the  outward 
sense,  or  to  explain  it  as  a  physical  consequence  of  the  displace- 
ment of  molecules. 

We  find  ourselves  born  into  a  visible  and  tangible  universe, 
too  vast  to  have  any  definite  limits  assignable  to  it  by  the  un- 
derstanding ;  and  we  know  that  our  own  existence  is  relegated 
to  a  corner  of  it,  which,  in  comparison  with  the  whole,  is  almost 
too  small  to  be  appreciated.  But  actual  being  does  not  depend 
on  magnitude  ;  one  thing  is  not  more  real  than  another  be- 
cause it  is  bigger  than  that  other.  Shall  we  make  that  huge 
aggregate  of  matter  to  be  our  type  of  reality,  and  regard  our 
own  thinking  life  in  it  as  a  mere  phantom,  an  arbitrary  fiction 
of  thought  ?  Or  will  not  a  profound  philosophy  rather  hold 
the  material  universe  to  be  the  phantom,  and  the  human  mind 
to  be  the  reality  in  whose  imagination  the  outer  world  is  con- 
jured up  ?  If  taken  in  its  full  import,  we  must  allow  that  this 
question  does  not  admit  of  a  positive  answer  ;  it  presents  a 
problem  too  deep  to  be  sounded  by  a  finite  intellect.  What 
the  external  universe  is  in  its  inmost  being  and  essence,  as  a 
noumenon,  or  per  se,  apart  from  its  manifestation  to  us,  cannot 
be  ascertained  here  ;  we  may  know  hereafter.  As  already  said, 
it  is  known  only  as  a  foreign  Force  —  a  Power  not  ourselves, 
operating  upon  our  minds.  What  that  Force  is  per  se,  in  its 
true  nature,  and  not  merely  as  apprehended  by  sense  and 
thought,  God  only  knows.  But  thus  much  we  may  confidently 


158  DUALISM,   MATERIALISM,    OR   IDEALISM. 

affirm,  that  the  material  universe,  according  to  the  vulgar  con- 
ception of  it,  as  a  huge  mass  of  inert  and  lifeless  molecules, 
with  all  the  sensible  qualities  commonly  attributed  to  them, 
and  supposed  to  exist  independently  of  any  mind  whatever,  is 
a  mere  fiction  constructed  by  human  thought.  It  is  built  up 
only  in  our  imagination ;  and  we  can  easily  retrace  the  process 
through  which  it  is  put  together  out  of  few  and  thin  filaments 
of  absolute  being. 

What  we  call  "  Nature  "  is  an  aggregate  of  sensible  objects 
coexisting  in  space,  and  of  events  occurring  successively  in 
time.  To  adopt  Kant's  phrase,  we  construct  the  visible  land- 
scape before  us  by  placing  the  various  objects  in  it  side  by  side, 
externally  to  each  other  and  to  ourselves  —  spreading  them  out, 
as  it  were,  over  an  extended  canvas,  thus  forming  a  broad  men- 
tal picture.  And,  in  like  manner,  we  construct  a  page  of  our 
daily  experience,  or  of  history,  distributing  the  successive  events 
in  it  along  the  line  of  time,  which  reaches  indefinitely  into  the 
distant  past  and  future.  Now,  what  were  these  objects  and 
events,  what  were  the  various  mental  impressions,  as  they  were 
first  communicated  to  us  by  the  senses,  before  we  first  projected 
them  out  of  ourselves  into  the  objective  forms  of  space  and 
time?  They  were  purely  mental;  they  were  mere  groups  of 
sensations  bundled  together  in  the  mind, — arranged,  indeed, 
by  processes  of  the  understanding  in  their  due  relations  to  each 
other,  but  not  occupying  space,  not  outside  of  each  other  as 
partes  extra  partes,  but  existing  simultaneously,  like  the  va- 
rious notes  constituting  a  harmony  or  a  discord,  without  any 
relations  to  space  and  time,  except  those  which  we  subsequently 
impose  upon  them.  Like  all  psychical  phenomena,  when  con- 
sidered purely  as  such,  they  were  unspatial,  and,  if  regarded  as 
an  aggregate  existing  at  any  one  moment,  were  also  untempo- 
ral.  Whence,  then,  did  we  derive  the  canvas — the  forms  — 
on  and  in  which  we  afterwaixls  arranged  them  ?  Whence  came 
Space  and  Time  thus  to  be  the  background  of  our  picture  ? 
Not  from  the  senses,  surely  ;  for  pure  Space  and  Time,  not  oc- 
cupied either  by  objects  or  events,  are,  to  our  apprehension  at 
least,  mere  blanks  ;  they  are  nothingness.  There  is  nothing 
in  them  for  the  senses  to  take  hold  of.  They  are  mere  subjec- 
tive forms,  not  borrowed  from  Nature,  but  thought  into  it,  or 


DUALISM,    MATERIALISM,   OR   IDEALISM.  159 

imposed  upon  it,  by  the  constitution  of  our  minds.  Yet  we 
Lave  an  intuitive  and  ineradicable  belief  that  they  have  also 
objective  truth,  apart  from  and  beyond  our  mental  apprehen- 
sion of  them  ;  that  they  are  not  merely  laws  of  thought,  but 
also  laws  of  things.  Whence  comes  this  irresistible  conviction, 
which  does  not  appear  to  be  weakened,  even  though  we  think 
there  is  no  direct  evidence  in  its  favor  ?  Perhaps  we  may  ap- 
proximate an  answer  to  this  difficult  question,  by  going  back  tp 
a  subject  already  briefly  considered — the  apparent  ubiquity 
of  the  thinking  Self  to  the  whole  nervous  system. 

The  doctrine  of  Reid  and  Hamilton,  that  we  have  an  im- 
mediate perception  of  the  external  world,  is  rejected  by  the 
Idealists  on  the  ground  so  frequently  urged  by  them,  that  we 
can  never  get  beyond  the  limits  of  our  own  consciousness. 
Knowledge  can  no  more  go  outside  of  itself,  they  say,  than  a 
man  can  jump  out  of  his  own  skin.  Admitted  :  but  is  it  so 
certain  where  the  limits  of  consciousness  are  to  be  found  ?  If 
the  mind  is  really  present  wherever  it  acts  and  feels,  then  all 
that  is  inside  of  the  skin  is  also  inside  of  consciousness.  If  the 
sphere  of  our  spiritual  activity,  instead  of  being  limited  to  an 
indivisible  point  in  the  brain,  is  coextensive  with  our  whole 
nervous  organism,  then  we  do  not  need  to  go  outside  of  our- 
selves in  order  to  become  immediately  cognizant  both  of  the  ex- 
tension and  the  impenetrability  of  our  limbs  and  muscles.  We 
can  become  directly  conscious  of  the  distinction  between  void 
and  occupied  space  ;  that  is,  of  the  resistance  which  is  offered 
by  the  several  portions  of  our  own  embodiment  in  a  material 
form.  Space  thus  becomes  not  only  a  subjective  postulate,  but 
an  objective  revelation.  It  is  apprehended  both  a  priori  and  a 
posteriori  ;  it  is  known  both  as  a  law  of  thought,  and  as  a  mani- 
festation of  that  which  is  foreign  to  our  thought —  the  Power 
which  is  not  ourselves.  If  touched  on  two  separate  portions  of 
my  body,  as  on  the  shoulder  and  the  hip,  I  recognize  immedi- 
ately the  distinction  between  here  and  there  ;  and  the  idea  of 
space,  hitherto  undeveloped,  then  rises  into  distinct  conscious- 
ness. In  the  effort  which  is  needed  in  order  to  effect  any  mus- 
cular movement,  as  in  lifting  a  weight,  we  become  immediately 
conscious  both  of  our  own  causal  agency,  and  of  the  resistance 
to  it  which  is  produced  by  the  inertia  of  matter.  Both  the 


160  DUALISM,    MATERIALISM,    OR   IDEALISM. 

Ego  and  the  non-Ego  thus  become  directly  known,  each  in  its 
contrast  with  the  other,  and  equally  real  with  that  other. 

This  theory  is  entirely  consistent  with  what  has  been  alleged 
respecting  the  absolute  unity  and  indivisibility  of  the  thinking 
Self.  That  which  is  inextended  can,  by  change  of  place,  de- 
scribe extension,  as  the  straight  line  is  generated  by  the  move- 
ment of  a  mathematical  point.  Pascal  asks  in  his  usual  fervid 
manner,  '-Think  you  it  is  impossible  that  God  should  be  in- 
finite, and  yet  without  parts  ?  But  I  will  show  you  a  thing 
which  is  both  infinite  and  indivisible  :  it  is  a  point  moving  in 
all  directions  with  an  infinite  swiftness  ;  for  it  is  in  all  places, 
and  it  is  all  in  each  place."  The  Materialists  themselves,  at 
the  present  day,  are  far  from  limiting  the  action  of  mind  to  a 
single  indivisible  point  in  the  brain.  They  do  not  even  confine 
it,  as  Descartes  did,  to  a  small  portion  of  the  brain — that  is,  to 
the  pineal  gland.  But  they  diffuse  it  through  the  gray  matter 
which  covers  the  cerebral  hemispheres — that  is,  through  the 
cortical  layer  which  forms  the  whole  upper  sui'face  of  the  brain. 
Dr.  Maudsley,  as  we  have  seen,  thus  distributes  it  among  the 
six  hundred  millions  of  nerve-cells  which  constitute  this  layer, 
each  particular  cell,  according  to  him,  being  the  centre  of  its 
own  particular  idea.  Why  not  carry  the  distribution  a  little 
farther,  especially  as  the  gray  nervous  matter  in  question  is 
found  not  only  covering  the  cerebral  hemispheres,  but  all  along 
the  spinal  cord,  and  in  all  the  ganglia  or  lower  nervous  centres 
with  which  nearly  the  whole  nervous  system  is  studded  ?  With 
these  facts  before  us,  I  say  it  is  as  unscientific  to  limit  the 
sphere  of  the  mind's  direct  activity  to  the  brain,  as  it  was  on 
the  part  of  the  old  physiologists  to  make  the  heart  the  special 
seat  of  courage  and  magnanimity,  and  to  place  compassion  in 
the  bowels,  and  melancholy  (black  bile)  in  the  liver.  In  fact, 
the  whole  theory  is  as  vulgar  as  it  is  unphilosophical. 

For  we  must  remember  that  the  mind  even  of  the  young 
child,  as  yet  uninformed  by  science,  and  knowing  nothing  about 
the  brain  or  the  nervous  system,  is  able  distinctly  and  accu- 
rately to  locate  its  sensations  wherever  they  belong  in  the  dif- 
ferent portions  of  its  bodv.  It  comes  crying  to  its  mother  with 
the  complaint  that  it  has  "got  a  pain  "  in  its  toe,  or  its  finger, 
or  its  back,  —  that  it  has  the  stomach-ache,  or  the  ear-ache,  or 


DUALISM,    MATERIALISM,   OR   IDEALISM.  161 

the  bead-ache.  Since  the  pain,  as  a  sensation,  can  be  felt  only 
by  the  mind,  if  the  mind  is  located  only  in  the  brain,  if  it  is 
strictly  imprisoned  in  its  presence-chamber  there,  who  informed 
it  of  the  distinct  localities  whence  these  painful  feelings  in  its 
extremities  proceed  ?  The  physiologist  is  ready  with  his  an- 
swer, such  as  it  is.  He  says  that  the  nerve-fibres,  thin  threads 
of  nervous  matter,  run  from  the  brain  and  the  spinal  cord  to 
every  portion  of  the  body,  and  that  each  one  of  them,  like  a 
telegraph-wire,  brings  to  the  mind  in  the  cerebral  hemispheres 
its  separate  report  of  what  is  going  on  at  its  peripheral  extrem- 
ity. But  I  maintain  that  this  answer  is  wholly  insufficient, 
since  it  leaves  the  difficulty  to  be  solved  just  as  great  as  ever. 
It  is  true  that  hundreds,  if  not  thousands,  of  these  nerve-fibres 
terminate  at  their  upper  ends  in  the  brain.  But  how  comes 
the  mind  of  the  three-year-old  child,  which  has  never  left  its 
prison-house  in  the  skull,  to  be  able  instantly  to  select  the  right 
fibre  out  of  the  whole  large  bunch  of  them,  and  to  say  this  one 
comes  from  the  toe,  that  from  the  finger,  that  from  the  ear, 
that  from  the  stomach,  and  so  on  ?  You  know  that  when  a 
new  servant  is  first  introduced  into  the  kitchen  of  a  large  house, 
she  needs  to  begin  the  training  for  her  duties  by  becoming 
acquainted  with  the  several  bells  which  are  hung  there.  She 
needs  to  learn,  either  by  tracing  out  each  bell-wire  through  its 
whole  length,  or  by  being  informed  by  some  one  who  has  so 
traced  them,  that  this  one  comes  from  the  parlor,  that  from 
the  dining-room,  that  from  the  front-door,  etc.  How  does  the 
young  child's  mind,  if  it  never  leaves  its  presence-chamber  in 
the  brain,  come  to  "  know  the  bells  ?  "  Von  Hartmann  points 
out  a  corresponding  difficulty  in  the  case  of  the  motor  nerves, 
through  which  we  control  the  action  of  every  joint  and  muscle 
in  the  body.  Surrounded  with  an  indefinite  number  of  the 
upper  ends  of  such  nerves  in  the  brain,  how  does  the  mind 
know  which  particular  one  to  pull  in  order  to  crook  the  fore- 
finger, which  one  will  lift  the  foot,  which  one  will  bend  the 
knee  ?  In  such  case,  we  know  the  mind  never  hesitates,  wa- 
vers, or  mistakes.  Instantly  it  pulls  the  right  bell  ;  instantly 
it  refers  the  telegram  to  the  right  city  or  town  whence  it  came. 

I  say,  the   only  conceivable  manner   of  accounting  for  these 
11 


162  DUALISM,    MATERIALISM,    OR   IDEALISM. 

marvellous  facts  is  the  omnipresence  of  the  thinking  Self,  one 
and  indivisible  as  it  is,  to  the  whole  nervous  organism. 

One  class  of  Materialists,  however,  attempt  to  explain  away 
this  ubiquity  of  the  mind  to  the  body  which  it  inhabits,  by 
denying  the  indivisibility  of  that  mind,  —  that  is,  by  rejecting 
the  unity  of  consciousness.  They  admit  the  presence  and 
governing  action  of  mind  in  the  ganglia  or  lower  nervous  cen- 
tres, but  assert  that  it  is  a  different  mind  from  that  which  is 
dominant  in  the  brain,  though  communication  is  kept  up  be- 
tween them,  and  their  action  is  thus  rendered  harmonious,  by 
the  connecting  nervous  fibres.  Every  body,  like  a  bee-hive,  is 
thus  tenanted  by  a  sort  of  republic  of  distinct  though  coop- 
erating souls.  The  undivided  worm  or  ant,  they  say,  has  ap- 
parently but  one  consciousness  :  but  when  cut  apart,  it  has  two, 
since  each  moiety  continues  to  live  and  to  exercise  its  ordi- 
nary functions.  Curiously  enough,  when  an  Australian  ant  is 
thus  cut  in  two,  the  severed  portions  immediately  declare  war 
on  each  other  and  engage  in  a  fierce  conflict,  the  upper  half 
fighting  with  its  mandibles  and  the  lower  one  with  its  sting. 
We  have  the  corresponding  fact,  it  is  urged,  in  the  case  even 
of  the  mammalia,  whenever  one  of  them  propagates  its  kind  ; 
since  what  was  apparently  one  consciousness  before  birth  be- 
comes two  distinct  consciousnesses  after  the  physical  connec- 
tion between  parent  and  offspring  is  severed.  It  is  further 
alleged,  that  if  the  severed  halves  of  two  different  polyps,  each 
of  which  had  a  consciousness  of  its  own,  are  brought  together, 
they  will  unite  and  form  but  one  animal  and  one  conscious- 
ness. 

But  it  is  an  unproved  and  improbable  hypothesis,  that  the 
ant,  polyp,  or  offspring  still  in  gremio  matris,  has  any  conscious- 
ness at  all.  Those  created  things  which  are  low  down  in  the 
scale  of  being,  whether  vegetable  or  animal,  exemplify  what 
Professor  Owen  calls  ';  the  law  of  vegetative  or  irrelative  repe- 
tition," as  they  have  many  organs  performing  the  same  func- 
tion, and  not  united  with  each  other  for  the  performance  of  a 
higher  function.  A  number  of  similar  parts  being  repeated  in 
each  segment  of  the  organism,  the  body  can  be  divided,  and 
the  severed  portions,  each  containing  some  of  the  organs  essen- 
tial to  the  whole,  will  continue  to  live  separately,  and  even  to 


DUALISM,    MATERIALISM,    OR   IDEALISM.  163 

grow  and  develop  other  organs  convenient  for  their  indepen- 
dent life.  In  the  Polypiaria,  we  find  many  compound  plant-lik.e 
animals  aggregated  together  on  a  single  calcareous  axis  or  base. 
In  the  cases  now  in  question,  the  section  made  by  the  knife  did 
not  cut  one  soul  or  animating  principle  into  two,  but  only 
severed  one  corporeal  integument  which  previously  held  to- 
gether several  distinct  lives,  which  were  really  independent  of 
each  other  before  their  division,  each  deriving  its  nutriment 
perhaps  from  that  portion  of  the  integument  with  which  it  was 
in  immediate  contact.  So  a  single  hive  of  bees  may  be  sepa- 
rated by  the  swarming  process  into  several  distinct  communi- 
ties, each  provided  with  its  own  queen  and  principle  of  unity. 
So  what  we  call  the  single  plant  may  be  severed  into  as  many 
plants  as  it  has  distinct  buds  or  germs  ;  but  not  into  more  than 
there  are  buds.  A  shred  may  be  taken,  either  of  plant  or  polyp, 
so  small  that  it  contains  no  germ  of  distinct  life  ;  and  then  the 
severed  fragment  dies,  being  only  an  incomplete  and  discarded 
portion  of  the  organism.  Science  can  never  discover  the  par- 
ticular time,  whether  before  or  after  birth,  when  the  sentient 
principle  is  first  infused  into  the  immature  offspring.  But  so 
far  as  physiology  is  competent  to  observe  the  change,  all  life, 
even  the  human,  is  propagated  by  what  may  be  called  a  proc- 
ess of  fissiparous  generation.  The  old  physiological  axiom 
still  holds  true,  omne  vivum  ex  ovo  ;  only  the  ovum  is  detached 
sometimes  in  an  early  and  immature,  sometimes  in  a  later  and 
ripened,  stage.  The  young  opossum  is  first  severed  when  as 
yet  it  seems  to  be  little  more  than  a  small  lump  of  protoplasm  ; 
the  young  of  one  of  the  higher  animals  remains  in  the  womb 
till  it  is  comparatively  mature.  The  precise  moment  when 
distinct  sentient  and  conscious  life  begins  is  one  of  the  many 
mysteries  before  which  Materialism  throws  down  its  microscope 
in  despair. 


THE   IDEA   OF   CAUSE. 

FROM    THE    PEINCETOX    REVIEW    FOR    MAY,    1879. 

THE  philosophy  of  Descartes  has  at  least  one  great  defect, 
that  it  does  not  explicate  and  bring  out  into  distinct  conscious- 
ness the  idea  of  Cause.  By  making  the  essence  of  Matter  to 
consist  in  passive  and  inert  extension,  and  the  essence  of  Mind 
in  thought,  which  is  supposed  to  have  no  capacity  of  going  out 
beyond  itself,  so  that  it  can  act  only  within  its  own  limited 
sphere,  his  theory  leaves  the  outer  world  of  activity  aud  change 
in  which  we  live  without  any  explanation,  except  through  the 
incessant  action  of  its  Creator.  Some  of  his  immediate  fol- 
lowers and  successors,  among  whom  were  Spinoza,  Male- 
branche,  and  Leibnitz,  partially  remedied  this  defect.  Yet 
neither  of  them  completely  removed  it,  because  they  did  not 
grasp  the  whole  significance  of  the  word,  or  distinguish  the 
various  meanings  and  applications  of  which  it  is  susceptible. 
Let  us  attempt  to  supply,  at  least  in  part,  this  deficiency  ;  for 
among  all  the  metaphysical  "  elements  of  knowledge,"  I  know 
of  none  which  is  more  essential  to  clearness  of  thought,  more 
varied  in  its  meaning  and  application,  or  more  determinative, 
so  to  speak,  of  the  whole  character  of  our  philosophy.  Tell 
me  what  you  know  or  believe  about  Causation,  about  the  origin 
and  nature  of  the  idea,  and  its  relations  to  Matter  and  Mind, 
and  I  will  tell  you  whether  you  are  Idealist  or  Materialist, 
Positivist  or  Transcendentalist,  Fatalist  or  a  believer  in  Free 
Will,  Theist  or  Atheist. 

As  the  first,  and  perhaps  the  most  important,  step  towards 
a  full  exposition  of  the  subject,  we  must  go  back  to  Aristotle, 
whose  acute  and  comprehensive  intellect  supplied  so  many  of 
the  distinctions,  and  so  large  a  portion  of  the  terminology,  of 
both  ancient  and  modern  philosophy.  He  pointed  out  four 


THE   IDEA   OF   CAUSE.  165 

distinct  meanings  of  the  word,  or  four  different  sorts  of  Causes, 
upon  which  the  mind  inevitably  stumbles  when  it  tries  to  as- 
certain the  origin  and  nature  of  any  phenomenon.  These  may 
be  passed  over  here  very  briefly,  as  they  have  recently  been 
discussed  by  President  McCosh. 

The  word  Cause  was  originally  used  in  a  very  wide  sense, 
corresponding  to  the  Latin  causa,  Italian  cosa,  French  chose  ; 
it  meant  the  thing — more  definitely  in  German,  Ursache,  the 
primitive  thing — which  is  transacted,  spoken,  or  contended 
about.  The  Greek  term  ama  merely  adds  that  it  is  the  thing 
which  we  accuse  or  assign  as  the  origin  of  the  phenomenon  in 
question.  Aristotle  distinguished  four  kinds  of  such  "  prim- 
itive things  "  or  Causes,  which  account  for  the  existence  of 
what  we  are  inquiring  about.  The  Material  Cause  is  the 
original  matter  (German,  Urstoff,  primitive  stuff)  out  of  which 
a  thing  is  made ;  the  Formal  Cause  is  the  peculiar  texture  or 
internal  constitution  (forma  informans,  the  essence)  which 
makes  any  particular  substance  what  it  is,  or  gives  to  it  its 
distinctive  character  ;  the  Efficient  Cause  corresponds  to  our 
modern  use  of  the  word,  as  it  signifies  the  maker  or  author  of 
a  thing,  that  which  really  produces  it ;  while  the  Final  Cause 
is  the  end  or  purpose,  the  intention,  for  which  it  was  made. 
Thus,  the  Material  Cause  of  the  paper  on  which  I  am  now 
writing  is  the  pulp  of  rags  out  of  which  it  was  made ;  its  For- 
mal Cause  is  the  peculiar  texture  given  to  it,  which  entitles  it 
to  be  called  paper,  rather  than  linen  or  papier  mache,  which 
might  be  formed  out  of  the  same  material ;  its  Efficient  Cause 
is  the  paper-maker  ;  and  its  Final  Cause  is  to  be  written  upon. 

To  understand  the  first  two  of  these  designations  we  must 

O 

go  back  to  the  old  Aristotelic  distinction  between  the  Matter, 
TI  v\r;,  and  the  Form,  TO  e?oos.  The  primitive  Matter  or  sub- 
stance from  which  all  things  were  constituted,  because  chaotic, 
homogeneous,  and  wholly  indeterminate,  is  not  regarded  by 
Aristotle  as  actual,  but  only  as  potential,  being.  Because  it 
is  everything  in  general,  it  is  as  yet  nothing  in  particular.  It 
first  becomes  actual  when  it  receives  a  definite  "  Substantial 
Form,"  TO  TL  *)i'  etVai,  by  virtue  of  which  it  becomes  a  distinc- 
tive or  peculiar  substance,  of  which  this  Form  is  the  essence. 
Then  first  it  acquires  its  special  properties  or  attributes,  which 


166  THE   IDEA    OF   CAUSE. 

are  the  manifestation  of  its  essence.  Thus,  it  is  of  the  essence 
of  iron  to  be  metallic,  magnetic,  malleable,  etc.  So,  also, 
sound  is  the  Matter  of  speech,  articulation  is  its  Form.  Pro- 
toplasm is  the  Matter  from  which  the  living  organism  is  con- 
stituted ;  the  cell  or  cellule,  and  the  distinctive  tissues  evolved 
from  it,  is  its  Form.  We  thus  come  to  a  distinction  which  is 
vital  in  the  Kantian  philosophy.  Intuitions  or  Percepts  are 
the  Matter  of  Knowledge,  which  the  Forms  of  space,  time, 
unity,  cause,  etc.,  first  render  thinkable  or  conceivable  by  the 
understanding.  What  the  Germans  call  der  Inhalt,  the  Con- 
tent or  Matter  of  the  cognition,  is  first  thought,  when  it  re- 
ceives its  logical  Form.  Hegel  conceives  the  Essence  (here 
synonymous  with  Form)  as  that  internal  constitution  of  things 
of  which  their  outward  qualities  are  only  the  manifestation. 
Hence,  when  we  propose  to  study  the  Essence,  we  regard  the 
outward  visible  being,  of  which  the  senses  directly  take  cog- 
nizance, as  only  the  rind  or  veil  behind  which  the  Essence  is 
concealed.  'Hence,  again,  all  things  have  a  sort  of  double  be- 
ing in  thought,  of  which  the  outer  one  is  merely  apparent  or 
inessential,  while  the  inner  one,  the  real  being  or  Essence,  is 
discerned  only  by  reason. 

The  next  pair  of  epithets  applied  to  the  word  Cause,  Im- 
manent and  Transeunt,  which  frequently  recur  in  the  writings 
of  Spinoza  and  other  pantheists,  originated  with  the  School- 
men and  logicians  of  the  Middle  Ages.  The  former,  Imma- 
nent (from  the  Latin  in  and  maneo,  inbiding  or  indwelling),  is 
conceived  as  in  action  only  on  and  within  the  substance  in 
which  it  exists,  but  as  operating  there  continuously  ;  while  a 
Transeunt  Cause  is  a  living  and  conscious  energy,  going  forth 
beyond  that  in  which  it  inheres,  and  thus  acting  on  other  things 
ab  extra,  from  without,  though  efficient  only  at  intervals,  on 
specific  occasions.  Thus,  reflection,  desire,  attention,  and  grief 
are  immanent  properties  of  mind,  affecting  or  determining  the 
current  of  thought  certainly,  but  producing  no  effect  outside 
the  consciousness  of  the  thinking  person ;  whereas  the  will, 
when  brought  into  exercise  as  a  distinct  volition,  goes  out  be- 
yond the  mind  to  the  body,  and  moves  the  arms,  opens  the 
eyes,  or  shuts  the  fingers.  Cohesion  is  an  immanent  property 
of  a  lump  of  matter,  merely  binding  its  particles  together  ; 


THE   IDEA   OF   CAUSE.  167 

while  the  magnetic  or  electric  force  seems  to  transcend  the 
limits  of  the  substance  wherein  it  is  manifested,  and  to  pro- 
duce motion  or  change  in  what  is  external.  We  can  now 
understand  what  Spinoza  meant  when  he  taught  that  "  God  is 
the  Immanent,  but  not  Transeunt,  Cause  of  all  things." 

The  distinction  between  these  two  is  obviously  the  same 
with  that  pointed  out  by  Aristotle  between  Formal  and  Effi- 
cient Cause.  A  Formal  Cause  is  always  Immanent ;  an  Effi- 
cient Cause  is  always  Transeunt.  In  the  ordinary  meaning  of 
the  word,  the  former  is  no  Cause  at  all,  since  it  does  not  pro- 
duce any  outer  action  or  change  at  a  particular  time  ;  but  man- 
ifests only  the  permanent  relation  of  the  essence  of  a  thing  to 
its  attributes.  On  the  contrary,  an  Efficient  Cause,  properly 
denned  by  Aristotle  as  that,  o9tv  r/  dp^r/  T»)S  Kinjo-ews,  which  is  the 
origin  of  movement,  produces  at  a  given  moment  a  physical 
change  in  the  outer  world.  Science  teaches  us,  that  all  phys- 
ical change  is  resolvable,  in  the  last  analysis,  into  the  begin- 
ning or  the  cessation  of  molar  or  molecular  motion,  which  re- 
quires space.  Hence  the  German  word  to  express  the  origin  of 
any  phenomenon  is  Ursprung,  the  primitive  spring  or  move- 
ment. The  Principle  of  Causality  is,  that  evert/  physical 
change  —  that  is,  every  event  in  the  material  universe,  every 
origination  or  cessation  of  motion —  must  have  a  cause.  Hence 
the  Principle  is  not  applicable  to  objects  that  exist,  if  consid- 
ered merely  as  existing,  and  not  as  changing  ;  and  much  con- 
fusion and  unsound  reasoning  have  arisen  from  the  attempt  to 
extend  it  to  them.  I  cannot  infer,  merely  from  the  present  ex- 
istence of  a  stone  or  an  animal,  that  it  must  have  had  a  Cause  ; 
for  all  I  know,  it  may  have  existed  forever.  But  if  we  know 
that  at  some  definite  epoch  it  began  to  exist,  then  we  say  with 
absolute  certainty,  that  that  beginning  of  its  existence,  as  an 
event,  must  have  been  produced  by  something  foreign  to  it- 
self;  or,  more  loosely  speaking,  that  the  event  must  have  had 
a  Cause. 

Hence,  that  primordial  condition  of  the  material  universe, 
in  which  the  evolutionist  beholds  "  the  promise  and  the  po 
tency  ''  of  all  subsequent  change  and  life,  —  whether  it  be,  ac- 
cording to  Democritus  and  Lucretius,  an  indefinite  multitude 
of  disconnected  and  homogeneous  atoms,  or,  according  to  the 


168  THE   IDEA   OF   CAUSE. 

modern  nebular  hypothesis,  a  primitive  fiery  mist,  —  if  not  sub- 
jected to  the  action  of  an  Efficient  and  Transeunt  Cause  exte- 
rior to  itself,  must  have  remained  forever  dead,  motionless,  and 
unchangeable.  According  to  the  hypothesis,  the  only  Cause 
present  to  it  must  have  been  a  Formal  and  Immanent  —  that 
is,  an  inherent  or  intrinsic  —  Cause:  and  the  only  result  of 
such  causation,  as  we  have  seen,  is  permanency  of  state,  the 
eternal  and  changeless  manifestation  of  the  same  attributes. 
It  is  not  enough  to  say,  what  physical  science  has  at  last  satis- 
factorily demonstrated,  that  there  is  no  spontaneous  generation 
of  life  ;  but  we  must  add,  what  science  long  ago  affirmed,  that 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  the  spontaneous  generation  of  motion. 
As  long  as  the  univei'se  was  without  form  or  definite  structure, 
and  also  without  an  Efficient  Cause,  any  change  of  its  state  was 
impossible.  Before  "  the  Spirit  of  God  moved  upon  the  face 
of  the  waters,"  no  winds  agitated  the  surface  of  the  "  dark 
illimitable  ocean/'  no  tides  heaved  its  mass,  no  waves  broke 
upon  its  silent  shores. 

Again,  as  the  Principle  of  Efficient  Cause  concerns  only  the 
origination  of  movement  or  physical  change,  which  requires 
space,  it  is  not  applicable  to  the  phenomena  of  pure  intellect, 
which  are  unspatial.  Putting  aside  the  sensations  and  feelings 
which  are  of  a  mixed  character,  as  they  arise  from  the  connec- 
tion of  the  mind  with  the  body,  it  is  evident  that  the  succes- 
sion of  what  may  be  called  pure  states  of  consciousness  is  regu- 
lated by  inherent  and  spontaneous  laws  of  thought  and  the 
association  of  ideas,  and  that  these  laws  are  wholly  indepen- 
dent of  physical  causation.  We  have  now  passed  into  a  new 
world,  the  contradictorv  opposite  of  the  world  of  matter,  since 
the  two  have  not  a  single  feature  in  common.  I  cannot  prop- 
erly ask  for  the  causes,  but  only  for  the  reasons,  of  my  desires, 
my  course  of  thought,  my  thick-coming  fancies,  my  convic- 
tions, my  volitions.  In  re  very  and  dreaming,  in  all  conscious 
meditation  that  is  not  regulated  or  checked  by  the  action  of 

*/ 

the  senses  —  and  such  evidently  constitutes  the  larger  portion 
of  our  intellectual  life  —  the  river  of  thought  windeth  at  its 
own  sweet  will.  Passively  I  may  wait  and  watch  its  ceaseless 
flow,  or  I  may  actively  interfere  and  hem  its  current,  or  deflect 
it  into  a  different  channel.  But  the  Reasons  for  such  interfer- 


THE  IDEA   OF   CAUSE.  169 

ence,  or  for  any  other  volition,  are  not  causative  in  their  nat- 
ure ;  that  is,  they  do  not  necessarily  determine  what  particular 
Consequent  shall  follow,  or  even  if  there  shall  be  any  Conse- 
quent whatsoever.  A  variety  of  Reasons  may  be  simultaneously 
present  in  consciousness,  like  so  many  suitors  in  court,  each 
soliciting  a  verdict  in  his  own  favor  to  the  exclusion  of  the 
others,  because  each  has  his  own  interests  to  subserve.  The 
autocratic  Will  sits  as  supreme  judge  in  that  court,  and  is 
always  more  or  less  arbitrary  in  its  decision.  Generally,  it  is 
willing  to  hear  argument,  that  is,  to  listen  to  the  Reasons,  and 
estimate  their  comparative  weight  and  relevancy  ;  though,  like 
too  many  other  judges,  it  is  often  wrong-headed  and  decides 
for  the  weaker  party,  even  when  conscious  that  the  preponder- 
ance of  reasoning  and  testimony  is  on  the  other  side.  Such 
is  often  the  case  when  duty  is  pleading  against  temptation, 
though  the  culprit  judge  is  fully  aware,  that  if  conscience  had 
might,  as  it  has  right,  it  would  govern  the  world.  Common 
people  often  say  of  a  judge  thus  acting,  not  that  he  is  neces- 
sarily corrupt,  but  that  he  is  blind  and  wilful,  thus  emphasiz- 
ing that  free  and  arbitrary  character  of  the  human  will  which 
is  here  in  question. 

As  the  strongest  reason  often  cannot  command  volition,  it 
frequently  fails  to  produce  assent.  The  relation  between  argu- 
ment and  volition,  between  the  inferences  of  the  understand- 
ing and  the  determination  of  belief,  is  far  from  being  compul- 
sory or  certain.  As  Dr.  Newman  remarks,  "  Sometimes  assent 
fails,  while  the  reasons  for  it,  and  the  inferential  act  which  is 
the  recognition  of  those  reasons,  are  still  present  and  in  force. 
Our  reasons  may  seem  to  us  as  strong  as  ever,  yet  they  do  not 
secure  our  assent."  Hence,  in  sound  logic,  the  ratio  cognos- 
cendi  is  clearly  distinguished  from  the  causa  fiendi  (i.  e.,  the 
Efficient  and  Transeunt  Cause),  though  the  two  are  arbitrarily 
confounded  by  Leibnitz  in  his  Principle  of  the  Sufficient  Rea- 
son. The  causa  fiendi,  as  we  have  seen,  is  that  which  makes 
the  event  happen,  and  therefore  never  fails  to  be  an  Efficient 
Cause,  though  it  may  not  be  sufficient  to  produce  the  whole 
end  in  view ;  for  it  may  be  overridden  by  a  more  potent  cause 
of  the  same  nature.  But  as  we  are  here  in  the  kingdom  of 
physical  or  mechanical  necessity,  the  weaker  cause  in  such  a 


170  THE   IDEA    OF   CAUSE. 

case  is  merely  overridden,  but  not  extinguished,  by  its  more 
powerful  competitor ;  for  the  efficiency  of  the  two  is  there 
compounded,  as  in  the  parallelogram  of  forces,  and  the  result- 
ant effect  is  unlike  what  it  would  have  been  if  either  had  acted 
separately.  But  when  different  reasons,  or  motives,  as  they 
are  commonly  called,  are  competing  for  our  assent  or  volition, 
though  they  may  be  almost  equally  balanced  at  the  outset,  so 
that  choice  between  them  may  be  long  delayed  in  order  to 
have  time  for  consideration,  yet  when  the  decision  is  at  last 
rendered,  the  conquered  motive  is  extinguished  or  absolutely 
put  aside,  and  the  resultant  action  is  precisely  what  it  would 
have  been  if  its  motive  had  been  the  only  one  present  to  con- 
sciousness from  the  beginning.  This  fact  alone,  it  seems  to 
me,  is  demonstrative  of  the  freedom  of  the  will ;  and  when 
united,  as  it  always  is,  with  the  sense  of  responsibility  for  our 
conduct,  the  philosophical  question  is  settled  forever  without 
appeal. 

In  truth,  the  word  ought  would  cease  to  have  any  intelli- 
gible meaning,  if  my  will  were  as  necessarily  determined  by 
motives  as  a  ship's  course  at  sea  is  by  the  winds,  so  that  con- 
science could  no  more  reproach  me  than  the  ship  for  sailing  in 
the  wrong  direction.  The  mind  of  an  insane  person  has  lost 
its  rudder;  he  is  necessitated;  he  cannot  steer  his  course  aright. 
Hence,  though  he  becomes  a  homicide,  we  do  not  punish  or 
even  blame  him  ;  we  only  shut  him  up,  so  that  he  may  do 
no  farther  harm.  Mill,  Huxley,  and  Spencer  would  have  us 
believe  that  all  the  world  are  mad,  and  therefore  that  the  tribu- 
nal which  sends  a  convicted  assassin  to  the  gallows  really  com- 
mits murder.  They  virtually  preach  the  innocency  of  wrong- 
doing, thereby  rejecting  the  testimony  both  of  conscience  and 
consciousness,  and  bringing  the  highest  interests  of  humanity 
into  peril.  Could  they  convince  the  ignorant  multitude  of  the 
truth  of  their  theory,  this  world  would  become  a  hell.  But 
the  unsophisticated  common-sense  of  mankind  rejects  the 
dogma  with  disgust. 

In  order  to  defend  and  illustrate  his  doctrine  of  "  continu- 
ous creation,"  which  is  only  the  theory  of  "  immediate  divine 
agency  "  carried  out  to  its  furthest  logical  consequences,  Des- 
cartes revived  the  Scholastic  distinction  between  a  Cause 


THE   IDEA   OF   CAUSE.  171 

secundum  esse  and  a  Cause  secundum  fieri.  An  effect  pro- 
duced by  the  former  of  these  holds  good  only  so  long  as  the 
cause  continues  to  operate,  but  vanishes  as  soon  as  this  ceases 
to  act,  for  the  effect  has  in  itself  no  independent  principle  of 
being.  Cessante  causa,  cessat  ipse  effectus.  Such  is  the  rela- 
tion of  light  to  the  sun,  and  of  the  circulation  of  the  blood  to 
the  beating  of  the  heart.  It  is  in  this  way,  according  to  Des- 
cartes, that  the  universe,  including  even  man  himself,  depends 
upon  God  ;  for  this  alone  can  properly  be  called  creation.  On 
the  other  hand,  a  causa  secundum  fieri  expresses  only  the  re- 
lation of  the  human  artificer  to  the  product  of  his  labor,  which 
he  merely  fashions,  but  does  not  create.  An  architect  is 
needed  to  build  the  house,  and  a  sculptor  to  shape  the  statue  ; 
but  this  task  once  completed,  the  workman  may  depart,  and 
his  work  will  remain. 

Evidently,  this  distinction  was  first  applied  through  a  jeal- 
ous concern  for  the  theological  dogma  of  the  dependence  of  all 
things  upon  God.  But  the  argument  has  a  double  edge,  for 
the  excellence  of  the  work  may  seem  to  be  impeached  by 
maintaining  that  it  cannot  be  made  durable  except  through 
the  constant  care  and  aid  of  its  author.  Also,  the  doctrine 
comes  perilously  near  to  Spinozism.  A  Cause  secundum  esse 
seems  at  first  to  differ  but  little  from  the  Formal  and  Imma- 
nent Cause  of  the  pantheist,  and  continuous  creation  to  be 
only  another  name  for  einanation.  Yet  the  distinction  be- 
tween the  two  is  really  wide  and  important.  In  the  Cartesian 
theory,  the  Deity  is  still  outside  of  his  work,  operating  upon  it 
ab  extra,  and  therefore  continuously  manifested  as  an  Efficient 
Cause,  and  not  merely  as  Immanent.  Spinoza  held  that  God,, 
as  the  ultimate  ground  of  all  things,  is  the  eternal,  infinite,  in- 
cessantly active  physical  Force,  from  which  all  being  necessa- 
rily proceeds,  just  as  from  the  very  nature  of  a  triangle  it  fol- 
lows to  all  eternity  that  its  three  angles  must  be  equal  to  two 
right  angles.  On  this  theory,  indeed,  all  things  do  not  prop- 
erly emanate  from  God,  but  are  rather  immanent  in  Him.  All 
physical  objects  and  events  are  contained  in  His  infinite  exten- 
sion, just  as  all  thoughts  and  souls  (for  the  Spinozan  soul  is 
only  a  succession  of  thoughts)  are  merely  expressions  or  mani- 
festations of  His  infinite  and  absolute  thought.  The  Scholastic 


172  THE   IDEA    OF   CAUSE. 

and  Cartesian  doctrine  of  a  Cause  secundum  esse  and  a  contin- 
uous creation  was  probably  suggested  by  the  orthodox  doctrine 
of  the  Trinity,  according  to  which  there  is  but  one  divine  sub- 
stance in  the  Godhead,  and  this  one  is  manifested  from  all 
eternity  in  three  equal  and  coeternal  Persons.  It  is  really  an 
effort  to  conceive  the  inconceivable,  by  indicating  typically 
what  theologians  call  the  eternal  generation  of  the  Son,  and 
the  eternal  procession  of  the  Holy  Ghost  from  the  Father  and 
the  Son,  neither  ever  beginning  to  be,  but  both  being  constant 
and  eternal  manifestations  of  one  God.  Philosophy  under 
Descartes  thought  to  emancipate  itself  altogether  from  the  in- 
fluence of  the  Scholastic  theology.  But  it  did  not  entirely 
succeed  in  doing  so ;  for  it  was  long  ago  remarked,  that  it  is 
not  as  easy  to  get  rid  of  all  one's  beliefs  as  it  is  to  burn  one's 
house  down.  But  there  is  a  foundation  of  truth  in  the  Carte- 
sian doctrine,  which  commends  itself  as  much  to  the  heart  as 
to  the  head  of  the  Christian  thinker.  Descartes  rightly  repre- 
sents creation,  not  as  one  act  begun  and  ended  at  a  definite 
time,  but  as  a  continuous  putting  forth  of  energy,  a  constant 
manifestation  of  divine  power,  so  that,  if  it  should  cease  for  a 
moment,  the  universe  would  instantly  lapse  into  the  nothing- 
ness whence  it  was  drawn.  All  things  are,  so  to  speak,  re- 
created at  every  instant  :  for  to  suppose  that  anything  could, 
of  itself,  continue  in  being  after  it  was  once  created,  would  be 
to  deny  its  finite  and  limited  nature,  and  to  render  it  for  the 
time  independent  of  its  Creator.  Compare  this  lofty  and  in- 
spiring conception  of  the  universe  with  the  dreary  mechanical 
theory  of  the  infidel  Atomist,  who  believes  in  a  mud  universe, 
built  up  and  sustained  solely  by  the  forces  immanent  and  in- 
herent in  that  mud,  self-shaped  and  self-evolved  through  an 
endless  evolution  of  living  forms,  from  the  animalcule  up  to 
man,  without  any  external  power  or  agency  whatsoever.  For 
this  is  the  upshot  of  the  theory,  try  to  sublimate  it  as  you  may. 
The  atoms  of  Leucippus  and  Democritus,  or  the  "  primitive 
fiery  mist "  of  the  modern  evolutionist,  homogeneous  and 
structureless  throughout,  are  nothing  but  the  primary  constitu- 
ents of  mud  :  and  those  who  behold  in  them  "  the  promise 
and  the  potency  of  every  form  of  life  "  are  really  idolaters 
bowing  down  before  a  Mud-Fetish. 


THE   IDEA   OF   CAUSE.  173 

The  theory  of  immediate  divine  agency,  as  taught  by  Male- 
branche,  involves  the  consideration  of  what  are  called  Occa- 
sional Causes.  These  are  only  the  uniformly  attendant  circum- 
stances, which  indicate  the  occasion  or  time  when  a  particular 
event  may  be  expected  to  happen,  though  not  exerting  any 
causative  influence  upon  it  whatsoever.  In  many  instances, 
what  is  called  the  Occasional  Cause  is  merely  a  concomitant 
effect  of  the  same  power  or  agency  which  really  produces  the 
event  in  question.  Thus,  the  falling  of  the  mercury  in  my 
thermometer  below  thirty-two  degrees  is  the  occasion  which 
leads  me  to  expect  the  freezing  of  water,  though  the  ther- 
mometer certainly  does  not  act  upon  the  water,  but  is  itself 
acted  upon  by  the  same  power  or  force  which  produces  the 
congelation.  In  other  cases,  the  two  phenomena  may  occur  in 
immediate  succession,  though  produced  by  agencies  entirely 
independent  of  each  other,  the  only  connection  between  them 
being  simultaneity  of  operation.  In  either  case,  the  Occasional 
Cause  is  only  a  ratio  cognoscendi,  which  leads  me  to  expect 
what  will  soon  happen  from  an  independent  and  probably  un- 
known cause. 

In  like  manner,  what  is  sometimes  called  an  Instrumental 
Cause  is,  properly  speaking,  no  Cause  at  all,  as  it  is  entirely 
passive,  the  action  transmitted  through  it  originating  in  some 
force  or  agency  lying  farther  back.  Thus,  the  force  or  active 
agency  by  which  a  stone  is  moved  does  not  reside  in  the  stick, 
or  even  in  the  hand,  which  pushes  it,  but  in  the  conscious  and 
intelligent  Mind  or  Will,  which  thrusts  the  hand  or  stick  with 
a  preconceived  and  definite  purpose  and  a  conscious  effort. 
The  instrument  through  which  the  causal  agency  is  trans- 
mitted may  be  one,  or  many.  There  may  be  a  chain  or  series 
of  intervening  links  between  the  primary  application  of  effi- 
cient force,  and  the  observed  result  of  motion  or  change  at  the 

O 

other  end  of  the  line.  But  each  of  these  links  is  passive, 
because  incapable  of  originating  change  either  in  itself  or  in 
that  which  follows.  It  merely  transmits  mechanically  the  ini- 
tial impulse. 

Lastly,  we  have  the  conception  of  Physical  Cause  or  Law, 
which  has  become  so  prominent  in  the  science  of  our  own  day. 
Here,  by  the  admission  of  the  physicists  themselves,  the  rela- 


174  THE   IDEA   OF    CAUSE. 

tion  contemplated  is  not  that  of  Cause  and  Effect,  but  of  An- 
tecedent and  Consequent.  If  the  sequence,  so  far  as  observed, 
lias  been  invariable,  so  that  we  look  with  perfect  confidence 
for  the  subsequent  phenomena  to  follow,  then  the  invariable 
antecedent  is  called  a  Physical  Cause,  and  the  uniform  con- 
junction of  the  two  phenomena  in  time  is  styled  a  Law  of 
Nature.  Thus,  friction  is  always  followed  by  the  evolution  of 
heat,  and  if  two  drops  of  water  or  mercury  are  brought  near 
each  other,  they  invariably  rush  into  one.  Then  friction  is  said 
to  be  a  Physical  Cause  of  heat,  fire  of  the  melting  of  wax,  etc.  ; 
and  it  is  said  to  be  a  Law  that  the  two  phenomena  should  be 
thus  conjoined.  But  no  actual  nexus,  no  real  union  of  the  two 
events,  apart  from  this  simultaneity  of  their  occurrence,  ever 
has  been,  or  ever  will  be,  discovered.  No  exertion  of  force  or 
power  can  be  detected  by  the  senses  ;  we  can  observe  nothing 
but  the.  external  phenomenon,  the  thing  done,  but  never  the 
power  which  does  it.  It  was  long  ago  remarked  by  Kant,  that 
the  senses  can  give  us  only  a  succession  of  isolated  phenomena ; 
and  that  any  synthesis  of  them,  any  grouping  of  them  together 
by  a  real  or  fancied  bond  of  connection,  must  be  thought  out 
by  the  imagination  or  the  understanding.  Sense  presents  the 
separate  beads  of  perception  in  a  series,  only  one  at  a  time  ; 
thought  strings  those  beads  together.  An  invariable  antece- 
dent is  a  sign  or  herald  —  an  indispensable  condition,  if  you  will 
—  of  the  phenomena  which  it  precedes.  So  atmospheric  air  is 
an  indispensable  condition  of  human  life,  and  space  is  an  indis- 
pensable condition  of  motion.  But  no  one  imagines  that  the 
space  generates  the  motion,  or  that  air  creates  life.  A  constant 
antecedent,  as  that  which  leads  the  mind  to  expect  a  certain 
event,  may  be  regarded  as  a  causa  cognoscendi,  or  as  an  Occa- 
sional Cause  ;  but  it  certainly  is  not  the  causa  fiendi,  or  that 
whirli  '/ti'tki'S  the  event  happen,  whether  we  expect  it  or  not. 

A  Law  of  Nature  is  only  a  general  fact,  or  a  statement  com- 
prising under  it  many  individual  facts.  Then  the  statement  of 
such  a  Law  does  not  account  for  or  explain  the  phenomena 
included  under  it  ;  it  only  describes  them.  The  process  of 
thought  by  which  we  pass  from  a  Physical  Law  to  an  individ- 
ual case  happening  under  it  is  one  of  deduction,  or  logical  infer- 
ence. Because  uniform  experience  has  shown  that  all  bodies 


THE   IDEA   OF   CAUSE.  175 

tend  to  fall  towards  the  common  centre  of  gravity,  therefore 
this  lody  thus  tends  to  fall.  The  statement  of  the  law,  there- 
fore, is  that  which  makes  us  expect  that  the  individual  event 
will  happen  ;  and  this,  by  a  very  natural  confusion  of. thought, 
is  often  mistaken  for  the  Cause  which  makes  the  event  hajypen. 
But  the  relation  in  the  former  case  is  that  between  premises 
and  conclusion  ;  in  the  latter,  between  Cause  and  Effect.  The 
former  is  a  law  of  thought,  the  latter  is  a  law  of  things. 

The  fallacy  here  exposed  is  one  of  much  interest,  as  it  lies 
at  the  bottom  of  every  scheme  of  Materialism  —  of  every  at- 
tempt to  account  for  the  phenomena  of  the  universe  without 
bringing  in  any  other  agency  than  that  of  mere  Physical  Laws, 
or  what  it  was  once  the  fashion  to  call  "  Second  Causes."  Such 
a  theory  is  not  only  insufficient,  or  not  supported  by  the  requi- 
site evidence  ;  it  is  founded  upon  a  mere  confusion  of  thought, 
and  is  illogical  and  absurd.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  the 
agency  or  action  of  a  Law;  except  as  a  figure  of  speech,  we 
might  as  well  predicate  locomotion  of  an  idea,  or  speak  of  bilat- 
eral triangles.  "  Second  Causes "  are  no  causes  at  all,  and 
exist  only  in  thought.  A  Cause,  in  the  proper  sense  of  the 
word,  that  is,  an  Efficient  Cause,  as  original  and  direct  in  its 
action,  must  be  a  First  Cause ;  that  through  which  its  action  is 
transmitted  is  not  a  Cause,  but  a  portion  of  the  Effect,  since  it 
does  not  act,  but  it  is  only  acted  upon.  At  most,  it  is  only  the 
Instrumental  Cause.  It  is  only  the  helve  of  the  hatchet,  with 
which  he  who  was  the  actual  Cause  of  the  murder  really  struck 
the  fatal  blow. 

Among  the  dozen  different  meanings  of  the  word  "  Cause  " 
which  have  now  been  mentioned  and  distinguished  from  each 
other,  it  is  perfectly  obvious,  I  think,  that  only  one,  variously 
denominated  the  Efficient  or  the  Transeunt  Cause,  fully  ex- 
presses the  idea,  and  deserves  the  name  ;  and. that  this  idea, 
also,  is  the  popular  or  vulgar  notion,  the  ordinary  significance 
of  a  very  common  word.  Common  people,  — men,  women,  and 
children,  —  guided  only  by  common-sense  and  the  ordinary 
use  of  language,  and  not  perverted  by  metaphysical  or  scien- 
tific theories,  never  attach  any  other  meaning  to  the  word,  and 
find  no  difficulty  in  understanding  it.  The  word,  in  this  its 
distinctive  meaning,  exists  in  every  language  under  the  sun. 


176  THE    IDEA    OF    CAUSE. 

Savages,  as  well  as  civilized  men,  speak  as  familiarly  of  the 
u  Cause  "  of  any  event,  as  they  do  of  the  "  Time  "  when  it  hap- 
pened; though  the  significance  which  they  attach  to  either  of 
these  words  cannot  have  been  derived  from  the  senses,  but 
must  have  originated  from  consciousness  of  what  is  constantly 
passing  in  their  minds.  Hence,  the  knowledge  of  Efficient 
Cause  strictly  so-called  precedes  speculative  inquiry,  and  is  an- 
terior to  all  science  and  philosophy;  for  language  is  the  expres- 
sion and  record  of  the  primitive  observation  and  unprejudiced 
common-sense  of  mankind.  Common  people  every  where  under- 
stand a  "  Cause  "  to  be  that  which,  of  itself,  or  self-determined, 
produces  any  change  in  the  external  world,  and  without  which 
any  such  change  would  be  impossible.  "  Of  itself,  or  self-de- 
termined," I  say  ;  for  they  always  mean  that  which  we  now 
usually  term  a  First  Cause  ;  that  is,  not  one  which  is  itself  an 
effect  of  a  preceding  cause,  but  one  which  is  primal  and  self-de- 
termined in  its  action  —  not  merely  producing  the  event,  but  ar- 
bitrarily or  freely  determining  the  particular  time  and  particular 
place  of  its  occurrence.  They  mean  just  what  yon  and  I  mean 
when  we  say,  for  instance,  that  "Wilkes  Booth  was  the  First 
and  only  Cause  of  the  death  of  President  Lincoln.  The  bullet 
and  the  pistol  were  merely  his  instruments  or  Second  Causes, 
and  therefore  incapable  of  self-determination  for  use  in  this 
particular  act  at  this  particular  time  and  place.  We  hold  that 
I>ooth  was  the  First,  as  well  as  the  Efficient,  Cause  of  the  as- 
sassination, because  we  regard  him  as  exclusively  responsible 
for  it.  as  he  certainly  would  not  be  if  he  had  been  an  uncon- 
scious and  involuntary  implement  in  the  hands  of  another; 
that  is,  if  lie  had  been  an  automaton,  or  merely  a  Physical 
Cause. 

This  popular  idea  of  Causation  strictly  accords  with  its  phil- 
osophical or  metaphysical  meaning.  It  is  what  the  physicist, 
even  what  the  sceptic  and  the  Positivist,  have  in  mind  when 
they  assert,  as  they  now  do  unanimously,  that  we  can  find  no 
reality  corresponding  to  it  in  the  outward  universe  ;  that  it  is 
not,  and  cannot  be,  cogni/able  by  the  senses  ;  and  therefore 
that  it  is  not  a  proper  subject  for  physical  investigation. 
Every  change,  every  phenomenon  which  begins  to  exist  at  a  def- 
inite time  and  place,  must  have  an  Efficient  Cause;  we  can  no 


THE  IDEA   OF  CAUSE.  177 

more  deny  this  proposition  than  we  can  doubt  the  existence 
and  unbroken  continuity  of  pure  Space  and  Time,  though 
neither  can  be  witnessed  by  the  senses.  But  the  nicest  obser- 
vation, the  most  refined  analysis,  nowhere  discovers  such  a 
Cause  in  the  external  world.  It  can  find  there,  at  the  utmost, 
nothing  but  invariable  antecedence,  a  relation  which  differs 
from  that  of  Cause  and  Effect  as  widely  as  the  idea  of  person 
does  from  that  of  material  substance.  The  result  may  be  a 
humiliating  one  for  the  pride  of  human  knowledge  ;  but  there 
is  no  doubt  of  its  correctness.  While  all  admit  that  a  Cause 
is  necessary  for  any  physical  change  whatsoever,  the  Cause  of 
any  one  such  change  has  never  been  found  in  the  material  uni- 
verse. 

Efficient  Causation  is  conceivable  only  as  an  exertion  of 
force,  and  therefore  must  be  regarded  as  Transeunt ;  that  is, 
as  operative  on  other  things  ab  extra,  and  thereby  producing 
change  externally  and  beyond  itself.  And  here  is  the  chief 
reason  why  such  causation  is  not  only  uudiscoverable  in  the 
physical  universe,  but  is  even  unthinkable  as  a  property  of  any 
material  substance.  How  can  one  body  act  on  another,  which 
is  at  a  greater  or  less  distance  from  it,  without  getting  outside 
of  itself  ?  Certainly  the  senses  cannot  perceive  any  power  or 
force  emanating  from  the  one  and  passing  to  the  other,  so  as 
to  form  a  bridge  between  them  ;  and  without  such  connection, 
their  mutual  action  and  reaction  are  inconceivable.  How 
can  the  sun  act  on  the  earth  which  is  over  ninety  millions  of 
miles  off?  Or  how  can  one  particle  of  matter  act  on  another 
particle  without  getting  outside;  of  itself,  though  the  distance 
between  them  be  made  as  small  as  possible  ?  For  even  if  the 
two  particles  are  brought  in  contact,  the  one  is  still  outside  of 
the  other  and  distinct  from  it  ;  so  that  we  still  have  the  inex- 
plicable phenomenon  of  act  to  in  dixtans.  This  is  the  insolu- 
ble problem  which  is  perpetually  recurrent  in  metaphysics,  be- 
sides influencing  largely  most  of  the  theoretical  physical  sci- 
ence of  our  own  day.  When  I  throw  a  stone  into  the  air,  what 
is  that  which  is  communicated  to  it,  by  virtue  of  which  it  con- 
tinues to  fly  after  it  has  left  the  hand,  in  spite  of  the  retarding 
action  of  gravity  which  soon  brings  it  again  to  rest  ?  Does 
the  muscular  force  of  my  body  extend  for  a  considerable  dis- 
1-2 


178  THE   IDEA    OF   CAUSE. 

tance  outside  of  that  body,  and  thus  sustain  the  stone  in  its 
flight  ?  Motion  is  certainly  communicated  to  the  stone  ;  but 

v 

that  is  the  effect  produced,  and  not  the  cause.  For  what  sus- 
tains the  motion  ? 

Leibnitz  seems  to  have  had  the  clearest  conviction  of  the 
nature  of  this  problem,  and  his  mode  of  solving  it  is  certainly 
an  original  one.  He  maintains  that  no  one  substance  ever  does 
act  on  another,  but  that  each  moves  or  rests  independently, 
through  the  influence  of  its  o\vn  immanent  or  inherent  force, 
though  it  acts  concurrently  and  in  unison  with  every  other 
Monad,  in  virtue  of  the  harmony  which  was  pre established 
between  them  from  the  beginning.  The  successive  develop- 
ment of  its  own  inherent  properties  goes  on  as  prearranged, 
in  strict  conformity  with  physical  law,  as  if  it  was  constantly 
acted  upon  by  every  other  Monad  ;  though  it  would  continue 
to  act  in  precisely  the  same  manner,  even  if  it  were  absolutely 
alone  in  the  universe. 

This  analysis  of  the  different  meanings  of  the  word  has  pre- 
pared the  way  for  an  exposition  of  the  only  intelligible  and 
self-consistent  theory  of  Causation  strictly  so-called.  An  Ef- 
ficient Cause  is  a  definite  exertion  of  power  or  force,  an  effort, 
which  is  determinate  not  only  in  time  and  place,  but  in  the 
direction  or  object  to  which  it  tends.  Hence,  just  as  much  as 
Final  Cause,  it  is  always  an  act  of  mind,  a  primary  and  self- 
determining  exertion  of  arbitrary  Will,  which  can  be  immedi- 
ately known  only  through  consciousness.  In  truth,  these  two 
sorts  of  Cause  always  go  together.  There  is  no  such  thing  as 
Will  in  general,  apart  from  particular  volitions.  If  I  will  at 
all,  I  must  will  something  in  particular  —  as  to  take  this  step 
towards  the  door,  to  lift  this  weight  or  push  it  aside,  to  read 
this  book.  In  other  words,  the  volition  must  always  have  a 
purpose  or  end  in  view  —  that  is,  a  motive  or  Final  Cause, 
finis  nil  qnt'in.  The  fatalist  surely  will  not  object  to  this  the- 
ory, for  it  is  the  foundation  on  which  he  erects  his  sole  argu- 
ment. And  this  purpose  or  Final  Cause  certainly  cannot  be 
directly  known  except  through  consciousness;  for  it  is  not  a 
phenomenon  of  matter,  but  of  mind.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
pin-pose,  the  Final  Cause,  cannot  be  realized  or  made  actual  — 
cannot  be  carried  out  — except  by  a  special  exertion  or  effort, 


THE   IDEA   OF   CAUSE.  179 

that  is,  by  Efficient  Causation.  If  the  agnostic  fatalist  denies 
this  assertion,  he  thereby  denies  that  the  motive  determines 
the  outward  act>  and  so  upsets  his  whole  theory.  In  fact,  it 
is  of  the  very  essence  of  mechanical  fatalism  to  attribute  effi- 
cient and  necessary  causation  even  to  motives  —  that  is,  to 
mere  states  of  consciousness.  Experience  through  the  senses 
can  make  known  only  the  results  of  Causation,  only  the  motion 
or  change  produced,  and  from  these  it  can  infer  the  nature  of 
the  agency  whence  they  originate.  All  our  knowledge  here  is 
a  posteriori,  or  subsequent  to  experience.  We  learn  only  by 
trial  that  one  substance  is  soluble  in  water,  and  another  not  — 
that  iron  expands  and  clay  contracts  under  the  application  of 
heat.  But  in  the  case  of  mental  exertion,  the  result  to  be  ac- 
complished is  preconsidered,  foreseen,  and  thereby  made  deter- 
minate and  subservient  to  the  particular  end  in  view.  Hence 
the  result  is  known  a  priori,  or  before  experience.  The  voli- 
tion follows,  which  is  a  real  effort,  a  conscious  exertion  of 
power,  an  immediate  cognition  of  energy  as  such,  or  furce  in 
action  ;  and  this,  if  the  power  be  sufficient,  is  necessarily  suc- 
ceeded by  the  effect.  It  must  be  always  efficient,  whether 
sufficient  or  not  for  the  whole  purpose  which  we  intended  to 
accomplish.  Our  real  activity  resides  solely  in  the  will ;  and 
will,  as  such,  is  always  accompanied  and  guided  by  intellect, 
and  usually  (not  always)  witnessed  by  consciousness.  Efficient 
and  Final  Causation  always  go  together;  both  originate  in 
mind,  and  operate  upon  matter  ab  extra,  as  a  foreign  agency. 
Efficient  Cause,  without  Final  Cause,  because  wholly  indeter- 
minate, is  null  and  inconceivable  ;  since  it  can  effect  nothing 
in  particular,  it  cannot  effect  anything  whatsoever.  Final  Cause 
without  Efficient  Cause  would  be  equally  nugatory,  as  it  would 
be  a  mere  blank  purpose,  like  an  intention  to  travel  to  the 
moon,  without  any  means  of  realization. 

All  physical  phenomena,  that  is,  all  phenomena  subject  to 
observation  by  the  senses,  are  reducible  to  modes  of  motion  ; 
they  are  nothing  but  changes  of  position  among  either  the 
masses  or  the  molecules  of  the  substances  in  or  through  which 
they  are  manifested.  Hence,  as  there  must  be  room  for  such 
movement,  they  can  only  occur  in  space.  Whether  we  call  it 
heat,  or  light,  or  electricity,  or  galvanism,  or  chemical  action, 


180  THE   IDEA    OF    CAUSE. 

it  is  always  the  same  thing ;  it  is  only  a  displacement,  a  vibra- 
tion or  stir,  of  particles.  It  is  only  by  a  misnomer  or  a  meta- 
phor that  we  speak  of  physical  or  chemical  "  forces,"  since  the 
phenomena  thus  designated  are  only  various  forms  and  modes 
of  motion,  which  it  is  convenient  to  distinguish  from  each  other 
by  appropriate  names,  because  each  has  its  specific  physical  an- 
tecedents and  attendant  circumstances.  Not  "  forces,"  but  the 
"•  results  "  of  force,  are  the  objects  of  physical  inquiry.  Sensi- 
ble perception  is  wholly  incompetent  to  establish  either  the 
presence  or  the  absence  of  causation  or  force  strictly  so-called. 
For  the  sense  perceives  immediately  only  the  outward  phenom- 
enon —  the  physical  change  or  movement ;  and  from  this  the 
physical  inquirer  infers,  what  he  does  not  and  cannot  imme- 
diately perceive,  the  presence  of  some  unknown  cause  or  force 
which  produces  that  change.  On  the  other  hand,  in  the  exer- 
cise of  volition,  the  conscious  mind  directly  and  immediately  per- 
ceives the  force  exerted,  i.  e.,  the  effort,  and  infers  the  phys- 
ical change  to  be  produced  by  it,  even  when  no  result  follows, 
that  is,  when  there  is  only  a  tendency  to  move,  but  no  actual 
change  of  place.  As  already  mentioned,  the  conscious  volition 
looks  to  the  future,  and  both  foresees  and  determines  what  the 
physical  result  zhall  be  ;  the  physicist  observes  only  the  pres- 
ent result,  and  judges  that  a  force  has  been  exerted.  The  sev- 
eral physical  "  forces,"  so-called,  are  convertible  and  readily 
pass  into  each  other,  because  they  are  only  different  kinds  of 
motion  ;  and  it  is  self-evident  that  motion  can  produce  or  prop- 
agate nothing  but  motion.  The  moving  body  can  operate  only 
by  a  thrust  or  pull,  and  therefore  can  produce  only  a  change 
of  place  in  the  body,  or  portion  of  a  bodv,  on  which  it  im- 
pinges or  to  which  it  is  fastened.  Then  it  is  not  only  in- 
credible, but  inconceivable,  that  it  should  generate  thought, 
emotion,  or  will,  neither  of  which  can  be  expressed  in  terms  of 
motion  without  evident  absurdity.  We  might  as  well  say  that 
iron  could  construct  a  svllofism. 

Comte  and  J.  S.  Mill,  because  they  held  the  doctrine  here 
maintained,  that  Klh'cient  Causes  are  ''radically  inaccessible" 
to  perception  by  the  senses,  were  bound  in  logical  consistency 
to  propose,  that  the  phraseology  of  physical  science  should  be 
reformed  bv  refraining  altogether  from  the  use  of  words  which 


THE   IDEA  OF  CAUSE.  181 

imply  the  existence  of  this  sort  of  Causation  ;  and  Comte  ex- 
pressly admitted  this  obligation,  and  therefore,  in  the  latter 
portion  of  his  great  work,  "sedulously  abstains"  from  men- 
tioning the  word  u  Cause."  But  Mr.  Mill  refuses  to  advocate 
such  a  change  of  language,  though  he  admits  that  the  scientific 
phraseology  is  "  altogether  vicious,"  "  inasmuch  as  the  ascer- 
tainment of  causes,"  so-called,  is  "  merely  the  ascertainment 
of  other  and  more  universal  laws  of  phenomena,"  that  is,  only 
the  more  accurate  statement  of  the  constant  relations  of  suc- 
cession or  similarity  between  the  objects  and  events  which  are 
the  results  of  unknown  causation.  Mill  continues  to  speak  of 
physical  "cause,"  because  he  does  not  "see  what  is  gained  by 
avoiding  this  particular  word,  when  M.  Comte  is  forced,  like 
other  people,  to  speak  continually  of  agents,  and  their  action,  of 
forces"  oi  power,  "and  the  like,  —  terms  equally  liable  to  per- 
version, and  which  are  partial  and  inadequate  expressions  for 
what  no  word  that  we  possess,  except  '  Cause,'  expresses  in  its 
full  generality."  This  is  well  stated,  though  the  argument 
leads  to  a  conclusion  the  very  opposite  of  that  which  is  adopted 
by  Mr.  Mill.  The  whole  phraseology  of  "  causation,"  includ- 
ing even  these  derivative  and  cognate  terms,  of  action,  agency, 
force,  power,  and  law,  ought  to  be  banished  from  the  language 
of  physical  science.  These  words  are  misleading,  because  what 
is  designated  by  them  is  imperceptible  by  the  senses,  and  there- 
fore is  not  an  object  of  physical  investigation.  The  accurate 
description  of  phenomena,  together  with  the  proper  classifica- 
tion of  objects  and  events,  including  the  various  kinds  of  mo- 
tion and  change,  and  the  precise  determination  of  the  constant 
physical  antecedents  and  consequents  of  these  events,  is  the 
sole  function  of  all  that  is  now  usually  called  "  Science."  If 
the  physicists,  chemists,  and  naturalists,  especially  those  of 
them  who  have  Positivist  or  agnostic  aims  and  tendencies, 
would  be  logical  and  consistent,  they  would  leave  all  thought 
and  mention  of  cause,  energy,  power,  force,  and  law  to  the 
metaphysician  and  the  psychologist,  that  is,  to  the  moral  sci- 
ences. 

Language  inevitably  reacts  upon  thought.  Because  the 
physicists  have  persisted  in  talking  about  causation,  when,  ac- 
cording to  their  own  admission,  they  meant  only  invariable  an- 


182  THE   IDEA   OF   CAUSE. 

tecedence ;  and  of  force,  power,  and  energy,  when  they  meant 
only  the  motion  —  either  actual  or  foreseen,  either  of  masses 
or  molecules  —  which  is  the  result  of  force,  they  have  been  be- 
trayed, in  the  expression  of  their  doctrines,  into  statements 
which  are  inconsistent  with  each  other,  illogical,  and  even 
meaningless.  Observe,  however,  that  we  have  here  no  con- 
troversy with  them  about  the  facts  in  the  case,  so  far  as  these 
are  physical  facts  —  that  is,  so  far  as  they  are  subject  to  ob- 
servation by  the  senses,  and  capable  of  being  foreseen  through 
the  ordinary  processes  of  inductive  logic.  These  they  have  ac- 
curately observed,  measured,  classified,  and  predicted.  But 
when  they  attempt  to  dovetail  these  facts  into  systems  and 
theories,  to  build  a  philosophy  of  nature  upon  them,  to  give  us 
a  new  cosmogony  and  a  new  conception  of  man,  the  universe, 
and  God —  or  rather,  of  man  and  the  universe  without  a  God 
—  then  they  have  gone  beyond  their  proper  functions,  and 
their  use  of  a  phraseology  which  does  not  belong  to  them  has 
betrayed  them  into  countless  inconsistencies  and  absurdities. 

Take,  for  instance,  their  statements  about  gravity  and  about 
the  conservation  of  force.  They  speak  of  "  gravity  "  as  if  it 
were  a  force  immanent  in  matter  and  necessarily  belonging  to 
it,  like  impenetrability,  and  then  proceed  to  consider  it  as  the 
efficient  agent  in  the  construction  of  the  universe.  But  this  is 
a  wholly  erroneous  conception  o'f  the  case  ;  for  any  body,  or 
any  particle  of  matter,  could  it  be  completely  isolated,  that  is, 
if  it  were  alone  in  the  univei'se,  would  not  gravitate  at  all. 
Since  what  is  true  of  any  is  certainly  true  of  all,  it  follows  that 
the  universe  as  a  whole,  with  nothing  outside  of  it,  does  not 

o  ' 

gravitate;  and  therefore  gravity,  is  not  a  quality  inherent  in 
matter,  but  must  be  regarded  philosophically  as  the  result 
of  a  metaphysical  force  situated  between  different  bodies,  not 
in  them,  and  as  acting  upon  them  ab  extra,  from  the  outside. 
Physicists  generally  have  ceased  to  speak  of  the  "attraction" 
of  gravitation,  since  that  word  implies  that  gravity  is  a  pull  ; 
while  nobody  knows,  or  ever  can  know,  whether  it  is  a  push  or 
a  pull.  If  your  acquired  habits  compel  you  to  think  of  gravity 
as  a  quantum  of  k- force  "  necessarily  inherent  in  a  body  and 
proportional  to  its  mass,  you  must  learn  also  to  think  of  it  as  a 
relative  force,  varying  with  different  physical  antecedents,  that 


THE    IDEA   OF    CAUSE.  183 

is,  in  proportion  to  the  nearness  or  remoteness,  and  to  the 
masses,  of  other  bodies  situated  outside  of  it ;  and  also  as  not 
acting  at  all  —  in  other  words,  as  non-existent  —  where  there  are 
no  such  outside  bodies.  A  body  at  the  surface  of  the  earth, 
where  it  is  about  four  thousand  miles  from  the  earth's  centre 
of  gravity,  tends  to  move  towards  that  centre  with  a  certain 
momentum  ;  that  is,  if  undermined,  we  can  predict  that  it 
would  fall  with  that  momentum.  But  place  the  same  body  at 
eight  thousand  miles'  distance  from  the  centre,  and  it  will  so 
tend  to  move  with  only  one  fourth  part  of  its  former  momen- 
tum. Then,  on  the  doctrine  of  the  conservation  of  force,  what 
has  become  of  three  fourths  of  the  gravitating  "  force  "  or 
"  energy  "  originally  inherent  in  that  mass  of  matter  ?  Nearly 
twenty  years  ago,  Faraday  asked  that  question,  and  so  far  as  I 
know,  it  has  never  received  any  sufficient  answer.  Brute  mat- 
ter cannot  act  where  it  is  not,  for,  as  I  have  already  explained, 
it  cannot  get  outside  of  itself.  Mr.  J.  J.  Murphy  has  rightly 
called  attention  to  the  fact,  that  gravity  is  incapable  of  satura- 
tion ;  "  that  is  to  say,  whatever  be  the  quantity  of  matter  that 
any  mass  of  matter  is  attracting,  it  is  capable  of  attracting  any 
additional  quantity  with  exactly  the  same  force  as  if  it  had  no 
other  to  attract."  Thus,  the  sun  acts  upon  any  one  planet  with 
its  whole  "  force  ;  "  but  it  thus  acts  with  its  entire  energy  on 
every  other  planet,  and  would  do  so,  even  if  the  number  of  its 
planets  were  thrice  as  great.  Phoebus  is  a  skilful  charioteer  ; 
he  drives  with  the  same  force  and  precision,  whether  four 
steeds,  or  four  hundred,  are  yoked  to  his  car. 

Any  one  who  has  fully  pondered  these  facts  will  surely  ac- 
cept the  conclusion  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  when  he  says,  "  that 
gravity  should  be  innate,  inherent,  and  essential  to  matter,  so 
that  one  body  may  act  upon  another  at  a  distance  through 
a  vacuum,  without  the  mediation  of  anything  else  by  and 
through  which  their  action  and  force  may  be  conveyed  from 
one  to  another,  is  to  me  so  great  an  absurdity,  that  I  believe 
no  man  who  has  in  philosophical  matters  a  competent  faculty 
of  thinking  can  ever  fall  into  it.  Gravity  must  le  caused  ly 
an  agent  acting  constantly  according  to  certain  laii's."  In  other 
words,  gravity  is  not  a  "  potency  "  of  matter  at  all,  but  is  pro- 
duced by  Mind  acting  uniformly  with  a  definite  purpose.  To 


184  THE   IDEA    OF   CAUSE. 

the  mere  physicist,  it  is  only  one  kind  of  motion,  which  may 
be  expected  to  recur,  and  to  vary,  with  certain  physical  ante- 
cedents or  under  certain  attendant  circumstances  ;  that  is,  in  a 
fixed  proportion  to  the  nearness  and  the  masses  of  other  bodies. 
The  motion  alone  is  mensurable,  depending  on  the  relations  of 
space  and  time  :  and  therefore  it  alone  is  calculable  ;  the  cause 
of  it,  or  the  force  which  urges  the  moving  body  along  its  ap- 
pointed path,  cannot  be  measured,  for  it  cannot  even  be  per- 
ceived by  sense.  Hence  the  materialist  and  the  merely  physi- 
cal cosmogonist  can  make  no  use  of  it  in  their  vain  attempts 
to  explain  the  secret  of  the  universe. 

The  principle  of  physical  science  which  was  first  styled  the 
conservation  of  force  is  now  more  definitely  called  the  conser- 
vation of  energy  ;  and  we  are  told  that  energy  should  be  de- 
fined as  "  force  in  action."  The  change  of  phraseology  was 
necessary,  for  as  the  mere  physicist  has  no  conception  of 
"  force  "  except  as  that  which  produces  motion,  there  was  an 
evident  absurdity  in  speaking  of  any  force  which  is  not  in 
action  —  that  is,  of  a  force  which  does  not  produce  motion. 
The  doctrine  that  the  energy  is  measured  by  "the  work  done" 
expresses  the  same  meaning  in  other  words  ;  for  the  work 
done  is  the  amount  of  motion  produced,  and  motion  cannot  be 
produced  except  by  "force  in  action."  And  the  new  state- 
ment of  the  principle  is  not  a  whit  more  defensible  than  the 
old  one,  since  it  obliges  us  to  speak  of  "  potential  energy." 
lUit  the  potential,  so  long  as  it  is  only  potential,  is  unreal; 
and  therefore  merely  potential  energy  is  no  energy  at  all.  A 
bit  of  pure  carbon  still  uncrystallized  is  a  potential  diamond  ; 
but  no  one  will  maintain  that  it  is  a  real  diamond.  Then 
there  is  no  "  conservation  "  of  the  same  energy  ;  for  when  the 
actual  becomes  merely  potential,  the  energy  or  "  force  in  action'' 
becomes  non-existent,  is  for  the  time  destroyed.  Then  we 
rightly  affirm,  not  the  conservation,  but  the  possibility  of  creat- 
ing anew,  by  a  change  of  circumstances,  an  amount  of  energy 
equivalent  to  that  which  has  been  destroyed.  For  the  con- 
version of  the  potential  into  the  actual  is  a  distinct  act  of  crea- 
tion, since  the,  change  of  circumstances,  by  which  alone  it  can 
be  brought  about  is  a  separate  event,  which  can  be  produced 
only  by  a  cause  of  its  own.  The  potential  does  not  change  it- 


THE   IDEA   OF  CAUSE.  185 

self  into  the  actual,  but  needs  to  be  acted  upon  anew  before  the 
change  will  take  place.  Thus,  the  potential  energy  of  the 
mill-pond  cannot  be  converted  into  the  actual  energy  which 
turns  the  wheels,  except  by  a  fresh  application  of  force  in  rais- 
ing the  gates  of  the  sluice.  In  every  way,  then,  this  statement 
of  the  principle  in  physical  science  is  unsatisfactory,  and  even 
meaningless.  It  speaks  of  the  conservation  of  something  which 
is  not  conserved,  but  destroyed  ;  and  after  defining  energy  to 
be  force  in  action,  it  speaks  of  potential  energy  —  that  is,  of 
force  in  action  which  is  not  in  action. 

So  much  for  the  blunders  into  which  the  physicists  with 
agnostic  aims  and  tendencies  have  been  betrayed  through  not 
properly  distinguishing  Physical  Cause,  which  is  the  mere  an- 
tecedent of  motion,  from  Efficient  Cause,  which,  operating  ab 
extra,  and  so  not  immanent  in  matter,  really  creates  the  mo- 
tion. Get  rid  of  this  confusion  of  ideas,  and  the  unquestion- 
able facts  in  the  case  may  be  stated  in  terms  to  which  no  ex- 
ception can  be  taken.  Do  not  talk  about  the  conservation  of 
force,  but  about  the  convertibility  of  motion.  The  principle 
is,  that  equal  quantities  of  the  two  sorts  of  motion,  molar  and 
molecular,  admit  of  being  converted  into  each  other.  Also, 
after  a  given  amount  of  motion  has  ceased,  and  after  a  shorter 
or  longer  interval  has  ensued,  an  equivalent  amount  of  it  may 
be  reproduced  through  a  change  of  circumstances,  which  is 
often  brought  about  by  a  comparatively  slight  exertion  of  force. 
The  precise  limits  of  the  convertibility  into  each  other  of  the 
different  kinds  of  molecular  motion,  such  as  heat,  light,  elec- 
tricity, and  chemical  affinity,  still  remain  to  be  determined  ;  but 
there  can  be  little  doubt,  I  think,  that  science  will  ultimately 
establish  their  mutual  convertibility  to  the  full  extent. 

The  scientific  world  ought  to  be  now  prepared  to  accept  the 
doctrine  of  Descartes,  that  matter  has  no  inherent  dynamical 
properties  whatsoever,  but  only  a  passive  capacity  of  resist- 
ance ;  as  manifested,  first,  by  inertia,  whereby  it  resists  a 
change  of  state  from  rest  to  motion  ;  secondly,  by  impenetra- 
bility, \vhereby.it  resists  being  extruded  from  the  occupancy 
of  space,  and  thus  becomes  capable  of  being  acted  upon  and 
of  transmitting  such  action  to  other  matter  ;  and  thirdly,  of 
cohesion  and  hardness,  whereby  it  resists  the  disintegrating 


186  THE   IDEA   OF   CAUSE. 

action  of  a  saw  or  a  hammer.  Neither  of  these  forms  of  pas- 
sive resistance  admits  of  being  converted  into  active  energy  or 
force,  since  neither  of  them  can  originate  motion. 

We  have  next  to  inquire  whether  dynamic  energy,  though 
not  to  be  found  in  the  inorganic  world,  that  is,  in  the  constit- 
uent particles  of  matter  as  such,  may  not  be  first  developed  in 
the  various  structures  and  machines  which  are  artistically  built 
up  from  those  particles  ;  that  is  to  say,  may  it  not  first  appear 
in  the  organic  world  ?  Of  course,  these  living  organisms  act 
spontaneously  ;  but  such  action  we  attribute  to  a  proper  effi- 
cient cause  —  that  is,  to  a  definite  will  and  intellect  operating 
upon  the  structure  ab  extra,  and  therefore  never  manifested 
except  when  there  is  life  within  the  organism.  This  is  only 
making  the  distinction,  with  which  we  are  all  familiar,  be- 
tween a  machine  of  man's  device  and  the  motive-power  by 
which  it  is  driven.  No  machine  can  be  invented  which  will 
run  of  itself  ;  some  extraneous  force,  that  of  steam,  or  air.  or  the 
muscular  strength  of  men  or  horses,  must  be  introduced  into  it 
and  periodically  renewed,  or  the  action  will  stop.  If  the  watch 
be  not  wound  up,  it  will  not  go.  But  while  every  machine 
constructed  by  man  certainly  has  this  great  defect,  the  question 
with  which  we  are  now  concerned  is,  whether  one  of  nature's 
machines,  a  living  organism,  may  not  be  so  curiously  con- 
structed that  it  will  run  of  itself,  mechanically,  without  the  aid 
of  any  distinct  principle  of  mind  or  life.  In  other  words,  are  all 
living  organisms,  from  the  animalcule  up  to  man,  mere  autom- 
ata ?  Can  we  solve  the  problem  of  perpetual  motion,  or  has 
"  nature  ''  solved  it  ?  With  the  mere  particles  of  brute  mat- 
ter, which,  as  we  have  now  shown,  have  no  immanent  active 
powers  whatsoever,  but  only  a  passive  capacity  of  resistance, 
can  we  build  up  a  structure  —  or  rather,  can  a  structure  build 
itself  up —  which  will,  so  to  speak,  run  itself,  and  manifest  all 
the  ordinary  phenomena  of  life  and  mind  ? 

The  human  body,  if  regarded  simply  as  a  mechanical  struct- 
ure, is  not  merely  one  machine  seemingly  put  together  with  a 
single  purpose,  but  an  organism  composed  of  many  machines, 
each  having  a  purpose  of  its  own,  but  all  being  coordinated 
and  cooperating  for  a  common  and  higher  end.  Thus,  speak- 
ing roughly,  the  eye  is  an  opera-glass  ;  the  mouth  with  its  ap- 


THE  IDEA  OF  CAUSE.  187 

pendages  is  a  mill  for  cutting,  grinding,  and  masticating  food  ; 
the  stomach  is  a  chemical  laboratory  ;  the  vocal  organs  form  a 
flute  or  clarionet ;  the  heart  is  a  pump  ;  the  circulatory  canals 
are  a  set  of  hydraulic  works,  etc.  All  these  "  natural  ma- 
chines "  are  of  recent  construction,  corresponding  with  the  age 
of  the  particular  animal  in  whose  body  they  are  now  put  to- 
gether, most  of  them  being  already  perfected,  or  far  advanced 
towards  perfection,  even  before  birth,  though  the  functions  of 
many  of  them  come  into  activity  only  after  the  embryonic 
period.  Thus,  they  are  not  only  skilfully  arranged,  but  prear- 
ranged for  future  use.  Children  have  lungs  before  they  breathe, 
eyes  before  they  see,  ears  before  they  hear,  and  rudimentary 
teeth  before  they  need  to  masticate. 

How  came  these  organs  to  be  so  constructed  ?  By  whom, 
or  by  what,  were  they  thus  put  together  and  curiously  built 
up  ? 

"  I  don't  know,"  says  the  Agnostic ;  "  and  because  I  am  not 
sure  what  the  operating  agency  is,  I  will  assume  that  there 
is  none,  and  will  merely  describe  the  successive  steps  of  the 
process  by  which  they  are  gradually  perfected."  According  to 
the  Animists,  Stahl,  Hartmann,  and  their  disciples,  the  ani- 
mal's own  soul  built  them  up  unconsciously.  "Through  in- 
herited aptitudes,"  say  the  Darwinites,  "the  elementary  par- 
ticles having  contracted  the  habit  of  thus  assembling  themselves 
together,  when  they  were  once  the  constituent  atoms  of  this 
animal's  ancestors  :  "  pretty  much  as  some  people  continue 
to  go  to  church  after  they  have  ceased  to  care  much  about  the 
services.  "  The  vital  force  —  the  nisus  formativus  or  bildungs- 
trieb — constructed  them,"  say  the  Vitalists.  "The  inherent 
physical  energies  of  material  atoms,"  says  the  Materialist. 
"  Nature,"  says  the  Pantheist.  "  God,"  says  the  Theist. 

Thus  much,  at  least,  may  be  affirmed  with  certainty  ;  that 
the*  power  or  agency,  whatever  it  was,  which  first  constructed 
them,  must  have  been  anterior  in  time  and  action  to  the  organ 
so  constructed,  and  therefore  cannot  have  been  inherent  in  the 
organ  itself.  The  cause  must  precede  the  effect  ;  the  builder 
must  antedate  the  building  ;  since  nothing  can  act  before  it 
exists.  If  the  structure  is  formed  on  a  definite  plan,  if  there 
is  an  evident  arrangement  of  the  parts  with  a  view  to  the  fut- 


188  THE   IDEA   OF   CAUSE. 

ure  exigencies  of  the  animal's  life,  those  exigencies  must  have 
been  foreseen,  and  the  plan  prearranged,  before  the  organism 
itself  came  into  being.  Hence,  the  creative  or  fashioning 
afencv  must  be  sought  for  outside  of  the  organism  ;  even  if 
now  embodied  in  it,  as  is  supposed  to  be  the  case  with  the 
hypothetical  vital  force,  it  must  have  existed  before  that  em- 
bodiment took  place.  Though  the  soul  has  clothed  itself  with 
a  corporeal  integument,  it  must  have  been  naked  before  that 
garment  was  woven,  and  even  while  it  was  a-weaving.  If  you 
tell  me  that  the  machine,  when  once  constructed,  will  run  of 
itself,  without  the  help  of  any  foreign  motive-power,  your  doc- 
trine, whether  credible  or  not,  is  at  least  intelligible.  But 
when  you  say  that  the  organ,  as  a  whole,  constructed  itself  out 
of  materials  previously  structureless,  the  proposition  is  mean- 
ingless and  self-contradictory. 

The  argument  here  is  by  no  means  restricted  to  the  genetic 

»/  o 

process,  which  appears  as  the  birth  and  development  of  the 
organism.  It  extends  also  to  the  processes  of  nutrition  ;  that 
is,  to  the  means  which  are  constantly  provided  for  the  mainte- 
nance of  the  organism  in  being.  Directly  or  indirectly,  nutri- 
tion is  carried  on  through  the  conversion  of  the  inorganic  into 
the  organic  ;  through  the  plastic  formation,  out  of  chemically 
simple  elements,  first  of  organic  compounds,  and  then  of  living 
tissues.  Here  again,  continuously,  throughout  the  whole  life, 
the  weaver  must  precede  the  web.  Whichever  way  we  turn, 
the  life  appears  as  a  true  cause  secundum  esse,  as  that  which 
incessantly  generates  and  upholds  the  organization  ;  while  the 
organism,  being  the  product,  cannot  be  that  which  upholds  the 
life.  Even  protoplasm,  considered  simply  as  protoplasm,  with- 
out any  adjunct,  is  as  dead  as  Julius  Ctesar.  It  needs  the  pres- 
ence and  cooperation  of  preexisting  life,  before  it  can  be 
wanned  into  animate  being.  Uproot  the  plant,  or  knock  the 
animal  on  the  head,  and  the  protoplasmic  constituents  of  the 
sap  or  the  blood,  though  retaining  all  their  characteristic  me- 
chanical and  chemical  properties,  will  no  longer  be  fashioned 
into  living  tissm-s,  but  will  generate  only  corruption  and  death. 
The  phenomena  in  question  are  not  made  one  whit  more 
explicable  by  referring  to  the  frequency  and  the  regularity  of 
their  occurrence.  What  is  called  "the  reign  of  law"  dimin- 


THE   IDEA   OF  CAUSE.  189 

ishes  our  wonder,  it  is  true,  as  we  are  no  longer  startled  by  an 
unexpected  occurrence.  The  event  is  regarded  with  more 
apathy,  when  it  recurs  every  day  and  every  hour ;  but  it  is  not 
thereby  made  less  mysterious.  An  efficient  cause  must  be  found 
for  the  frequent  repetition  of  an  act,  just  as  much  as  for  its  first 
appearance.  A  single  step  in  the  series  is  not  accounted  for 
by  referring  it  to  the  preceding  step,  however  familiar  the  se- 
quence may  have  become,  when  the  only  perceivable  connec- 
tion between  the  two  is  mere  antecedence  and  consequence. 
But  many  people  seem  to  imagine  that,  if  the  successive  steps 
are  very  short  ones,  or  placed  very  near  each  other,  a  bridge 
is  thereby  formed,  on  which  we  may  pass  without  difficulty 
from  one  extreme  to  the  other,  either  from  the  structureless 
germ  up  to  the  complex  and  perfect  organism,  or  from  the 
animalcule  up  to  man.  The  whole  theory  of  the  evolutionists 
is  founded  upon  this  illusion.  But  the  real  difficulty  consists 
in  taking  any  step  at  all,  however  short.  Ce  riest  que  le  premier 
pas  qui  coute.  If  one  has  no  power  of  locomotion,  he  cannot 
budge  the  fraction  of  an  inch  beyond  the  starting-point.  Even 
if  the  Law  of  Continuity,  first  announced  by  Leibnitz,  were 
verified  by  observation  through  its  whole  extent  ;  even  if  a 
chain  of  being  were  established,  without  break  or  leap,  from  the 
lowest  Monad  up  to  the  intellect  of  an  archangel,  the  successive 
steps  sliding  into  each  other  by  imperceptible  gradations,  we 
should  not  thereby  diminish  one  whit  the  necessity  of  seeking, 
outside  of  the  series,  for  a  First  Cause  of  all  things.  Without 
the  agency  of  Mind,  which  cannot  be  found  in  a  chain  of  mere 
physical  events  or  self-acting  machines,  however  near  they  may 
lie  to  each  other,  the  first  step  of  evolution,  the  least  move- 
ment or  change,  becomes  impossible. 

Certain  modes  of  motion  and  capacities  of  resistance,  im- 
properly called  physical  or  chemical  "  forces,"  are  invariably 
connected  with  definite  mechanical  antecedents.  Here  we  are 
in  the  inorganic  kingdom,  in  the  realm  of  mechanical  necessity, 
where  "  the  reign  of  law  "  seems  to  be  absolute.  But  it  should 
not  be  supposed  that  "  the  law  "  accounts  for  the  phenomenon, 
or  explains  how  it  is  brought  about ;  the  law  is  a  mere  state- 
ment of  the  fact  that,  so  far  as  observation  has  extended,  cer- 
tain events  recur  onlv  in  a  fixed  order.  Even  when  vital  or 


190  THE  IDEA   OF   CAUSE. 

psychical  forces  are  carried  over,  as  they  frequently  are,  into 
this  domain,  they  operate  not  by  extinguishing,  or  even  sus- 
pending, the  mechanical  properties  which  are  there  at  home,  but 
simply  by  overriding  their  opposition,  a  proportionally  larger 
expenditure,  a  greater  effort,  of  the  psychical  force  being  needed 
in  order  to  overcome  this  resistance,  and  the  result  produced 
being  therefore  properly  compound,  because  determined  by  the 
joint  agency  of  the  force  and  the  resistance  acting  together. 
What  we  term  a  miracle,  therefore,  does  not  violate,  or  even 
suspend,  any  of  the  so-called  Laws  of  Nature ;  any  more  than 
a  chemist  does,  when,  by  applying  heat  or  galvanism,  he  over- 
powers the  chemical  affinity  which  binds  together  the  two  ele- 
ments of  a  neutral  salt ;  any  more  than  a  man  does,  when,  by  a 
strong  effort  of  will,  he  bursts  his  chains  or  lifts  a  heavy  weight. 
In  either  case,  there  is  a  joint'  operation  of  two  factors  :  the 
one,  the  physical  resistance,  being  determined  by  its  mechan- 
ical antecedents ;  and  the  other,  the  psychical  force,  being 
guided  by  its  purpose  or  Final  Cause.  The  essence  of  the  mir- 
acle consists  in  the  purpose  wherein  it  originates,  and  not  at  all 
in  the  nature  of  the  force  employed,  nor  in  the  outward  physi- 
cal result,  which  is  just  as  much  produced  by  the  interaction  of 
force  and  resistance  as  is  the  stroke  of  the  piston  of  a  steam- 
engine.  When  the  materialist  denies  either  the  possibility  or 
the  credibility  of  psychical  force,  guided  by  a  definite  purpose, 
thus  intervening  and  changing  the  ordinary  sequence  of  physi- 
cal events,  he  forgets  the  unquestionable  action  of  his  own  will 
in  the  formation  of  the  spoken  or  written  words  which  express 
his  denial.  Now,  if  there  be  in  nature  distinct  and  manifest  in- 
dications of  the  existence  and  activity  of  a  Mind  and  purpose 
other  and  higher  than  the  mind  and  purposes  of  man  —  and  for 
this  argument,  it  matters  not  at  all  hoiv  much  higher,  that  is, 
whether  they  be  merely  angelic  or  divine  —  then  the  occurrence 
of  a  miracle  is  just  as  credible  as  the  story  of  a  St.  Francis  of 
Assisi,  a  San  Carlo  Borromeo,  a  Pascal,  or  an  Oberlin.  For  the 
life  and  character  of  either  of  these  men  are  as  exceptional —  I 
am  not  afraid  to  add,  as  miraculous —  as  many  events  recorded 
in  Scripture,  which  every  Christian  believes  to  be  miraculous, 
because  he  recognizes  in  them  a  definite  purpose  to  promote 
the  moral  and  spiritual  well-being  of  mankind. 


THE  IDEA   OF   CAUSE.  191 

According  to  the  conclusion  at  which  we  have  now  arrived, 
matter  has  only  a  capacity  of  resisting  a  change  of  state.  Effi- 
cient Cause  and  Final  Cause,  by  which  alone  that  resistance 
can  be  overcome,  and  which  must  operate  in  combination  with 
each  other,  can  be  found  only  in  the  action  of  mind.  With  this 
view  of  the  philosophy  of  Causation,  let  us  go  back  to  consider 
further  the  several  theories  that  have  been  propounded  to  ex- 
plain the  origin  of  the  various  organs  in  the  human  body. 
Among  these,  the  doctrine  of  the  Agnostics  may  at  once  be 
put  aside,  because  it  abandons  the  problem  as  insoluble ; 
though  the  open  admission  of  inability  to  find  the  true  cause  is 
here  coupled  with  an  unfounded  implied  assertion,  that  it  is  un- 
necessary to  seek  for  it,  as  no  such  cause  exists.  The  vague  ab- 
straction of  "  Nature  "  or  "  Substance,"  as  the  occult  cause  of 
all  phenomena,  which  is  the  pantheistic  theory,  really  coincides 
with  the  doctrine  of  the  materialists,  that  the  building  of  the 
organism  is  due  to  the  native  forces  immanent  in  the  senseless 
particles  out  of  which  it  is  constructed.  Both  of  these  forms  of 
the  doctrine  have  been  sufficiently  confuted  in  the  foregoing 
part  of  this  discussion.  The  only  other  theory  which  is  essen- 
tially materialistic  in  character  is  that  of  "  Pangenesis,"  pro- 
pounded avowedly  as  a  provisional  hypothesis  by  Mr.  Charles 
Darwin,  and  in  a  modified  form  adopted  also  by  Mr.  Herbert 
Spencer.  It  is  open  to  all  the  objections  which  lie  against 
materialism  proper,  besides  having  some  formidable  difficulties 
of  its  own.  The  "  gemmules,"  through  which  alone  the  inher- 
ited aptitudes  are  transmitted,  form  only  an  infinitesimal  por- 
tion of  the  bodv  of  the  offspring  ;  they  are  contained  in  the 
egg  or  germ,  which  is  all  that  is  directly  handed  down  from 
parent  to  child.  The  process  through  which  the  germ  is  subse- 
quently developed  into  the  full-grown  organism  takes  place 
through  the  gradual  accretion,  upon  the  basis  of  these  gem- 
mules,  of  foreign  particles  and  chemical  elements  coming  from 
the  world  outside,  which  have  had  no  opportunity  of  being 
modified  by  ancestral  peculiarities,  since  they  never  formed  a 
part  of  the  body  of  the  parent.  At  most,  therefore,  the  gem- 
mules  are  only  the  foremen  of  the  works  ;  they  are  not  the 
bricks  and  mortar  out  of  which  the  edifice  is  constructed,  but 
only  the  workmen  which  determine  how  these  crude  materials 


192  THE   IDEA   OF   CAUSE. 

shall  be  put  together.  Being  themselves  only  particles  of  mat- 
ter, their  coordinating  action  upon  other  particles  still  presents 
the  insurmountable  difficulty  of  conceiving  inert  senseless  atoms 
to  be  endowed  with  active  powers  and  definite  architectural 
propensities,  and  to  be  capable  of  acting  outside  of  themselves 
upon  other  atoms.  Whether  these  powers  and  propensities 
were  native  and  immanent  in  the  atoms  from  the  outset,  or 
were  superinduced  upon  them  by  hereditary  descent,  makes  no 
difference  ;  for  it  is  inconceivable  that  they  should  be  lodged 
there  at  all. 

The  three  remaining  theories  easily  coalesce  into  one,  which 
affords  the  only  intelligible  explanation  of  the  phenomenon, 
since  it  is  thereby  resolved  into  the  action  of  Mind,  thus  admit- 
ting the  necessary  cooperation  of  Final  with  Efficient  Causation. 
The  evolution  of  the  fully-formed  organism  from  the  nearly 
structureless  germ  takes  place  by  epigenesis  ;  that  is,  by  a 
generative  process  which  consists  in  the  exertion  of  the  neces- 
sary quantum  of  force  in  a  determinate  manner,  or  with  defi- 
nite aims  and  tendencies,  so  as  to  construct  these  particular 
tissues,  and  build  up  these  particular  organs,  rather  than  any 
other.  The  force  is  not  applied  at  random ;  if  it  were,  it 
would  be  wasted;  but  it  is  controlled  and  guided  throughout 
by  what  the  Germans  call  the  Grattungsidee,  the  idea  of  the 
typical  form  of  the  species  to  which  the  germ  belongs.  This 
generative  force,  acting  in  accordance  with  its  determinative 
and  guiding  principle,  is  expressed  by  one  school  of  physiolo- 
gists as  "the  vital  force,"  the  nisus formativus  of  Blumenbach. 
Here  the  Vitalists  merely  give  a  name  to  the  constructive 
process,  without  attempting  to  carry  the  explanation  of  it  any 
farther. 

But  the  doctrine  of  the  Animists,  first  propounded  by  Stahl 
near  the  close  of  the  seventeenth  century,  and  now  maintained 
by  Bouillier,  Hartmann,  and  a  large  school  of  their  disciples, 
supplies  this  deficiency,  and  first  affords  an  intelligible  theory 
of  the  process  through  which  the  organism  is  originally  built 
up,  and  is  afterwards  maintained  in  being.  Briefly  described, 
this  doctrine  is,  that  the  unconscious  instinctive  action  of  the 
animal's  own  will  and  intellect  —  the  thinking  self,  in  the  case 
of  the  human  being  —  is  the  plastic  or  formative  cause,  the 


THE   IDEA  OF  CAUSE.  193 

architect  of  the  material  structure  in  which  that  animal  soul 
has  its  shelter  and  its  home.  This  theory  harmonizes  perfectly 
with  the  theist's  conception  of  the  process,  since  it  attributes, 
as  Leibnitz  does,  the  primary  endowment  of  each  soul  with  its 
special  instincts  to  the  infinite  wisdom  of  the  Author  and  Gov- 
ernor of  all  things.  May  not  the  unconscious  Will  in  man  and 
animals  be  the  agent  of  Deity  in  carrying  out  the  divine  plan 
in  creation  —  an  agent  which  is  still  finite  and  limited  in  its 
sphere  and  modes  of  operation,  and  thus  sometimes  leaving 
faults  and  imperfection  in  its  work  ;  but  which  is  still  divinely 
inspired,  and  therefore  capable  of  producing  results  immeasur- 
ably superior  to  the  best  work  of  the  uninspired  conscious  in- 
tellect ?  "  For  aught  I  know,"  says  Coleridge,  "  the  thinking 
spirit  within  me  may  be  substantially  one  with  the  principle  of 
life  and  of  vital  operation.  For  aught  I  know,  it  may  be  em- 
ployed as  a  secondary  agent  in  the  marvellous  organization 
and  organic  movements  of  my  body."  1 

This  is  an  exact  description  of  Instinct  —  that  faculty  so 
marvellous  and  inscrutable  in  its  modes  of  work,  and  in  what  it 
accomplishes,  that  it  compelled  even  the  cold  and  sceptical 
Kant  to  cry  out,  "  Instinct  is  the  voice  of  God." 

Many  of  the  acknowledged  results  of  instinct  so  closely  re- 
semble the  work  here  supposed  to  be  done  by  it  unconsciously, 
that  one  is  almost  compelled  to  believe  the  same  agency  to  be 
employed  in  both  cases.  The  preservation  of  the  animal's 
life,  the  choice  and  collection  of  its  appropriate  food,  the  con- 
tinuance of  its  species,  the  care  of  its  young,  the  building  of 
its  home,  the  fit  period  for  its  annual  migration  and  the  proper 
direction  of  its  flight,  all  are  tasks  performed  by  its  own  vol- 
untary efforts,  under  the  guidance  indeed  of  a  wisdom  immeas- 
urably higher  than  its  own,  but  through  the  conscious  use  of  its 
own  organs  and  muscular  powers,  which  are  brought  into  play 
by  a  vague  impulse,  a  blind  craving,  urging  it  to  attain  some 
useful  end  of  which  the  creature  itself  knows  nothing.  Is  it 
unreasonable,  then,  to  suppose  those  muscles  and  other  organs 
are  first  constructed  by  the  same  kind  of  heaven-directed  agency 
by  which  they  are  certainly  fed  and  kept  in  repair?  As  Hart- 
mann  remarks,  the  Grattungsidee  of  each  species  of  bird  in- 

1  Biographia  Literaria,  New  York  ed.,  1847,  p.  569. 
13 


194  THE   IDEA    OF   CAUSE. 

eludes  the  special  fashion  of  its  nest  and  the  notes  of  its  pecul- 
iar song,  just  as  much  as  the  fashion  of  its  plumage,  the  struct- 
ure of  its  skeleton,  and  the  characteristics  of  its  beak  and  claws. 
In  either  case,  an  idea  is  to  be  realized,  a  purpose  is  to  be  car- 
ried into  execution,  and  this  is  the  proper  function  of  will  and 
intellect  combined.  The  nest  and  the  song  are  certainly  the 
bird's  own  instinctive  acts  ;  why  not,  also,  the  fashioning  of 
the  organs  through  which  these  acts  are  performed,  since  these 
are  parts  of  the  same  whole,  a  concatenation  of  means  to  one 
and  the  same  end  ?  It  has  already  been  shown  that  the  plas- 
tic energy  which  builds  up  the  organism  cannot  reside  in  its 
own  work,  since  the  architect  must  act  before  the  house  can 
be  begun.  It  is  also  evident  that  the  soul,  though  present 
to  the  body  and  intimately  connected  with  it,  as  the  imme- 
diate sphere  of  its  activity,  cannot  strictly  be  said  to  be  in 
the  very  substance  out  of  which  that  organism  is  constructed, 
but  rather,  like  every  other  efficient  cause,  must  operate  on 
it  ab  extra.  The  directing  energy  must  be  outside  and  virt- 
ually independent  of  the  work  directed  or  the  thing  accom- 
plished. 

The  unconscious  action  of  the  emotions,  the  thoughts,  and 
other  states  of  mind,  upon  the  corporeal  functions,  either  im- 
peding, or  quickening  and  intensifying,  their  normal  work,  and 
sometimes  even  bringing  the  muscles  into  play  in  order  to  ward 
off  danger  or  to  express  involuntary  sympathy,  is  matter  of  the 
commonest  observation.  Shame  calls  up  blushes,  grief  makes 
the  eyes  overflow,  angry  determination  knits  the  brow  and  sets 
the  teeth,  fear  blanches  the  cheek  and  paralyzes  the  limbs. 

Milii  frigidus  horror 

Membra  quatit,  gelidusque  coit  formidirie  sanguis. 
Obstupui,  steteruntque  comae,  et  vox  faucibus  bajsit. 

These  physical  consequences  of  our  mental  states,  so  far 
from  being  produced  intentionally,  generally  take  place  in  spite 
of  our  utmost  efforts  to  prevent  them.  The  involuntary  pro- 
tective action  of  the  limbs  and  other  organs  is  quicker  and 
surer  than  our  conscious  efforts  guided  by  reflection.  Before 
we  have  time  to  think,  the  deadly  thrust  is  parried,  the  eye- 
lids close  against  powder  flashed  in  the  face,  and  a  sudden 
spring  saves  us  from  a  dangerous  fall.  Involuntary  sympathy 


THE   IDEA   OF   CAUSE.  195 

sends  a  yawn  all  round  the  circle,  repeats  the  cries  and  gestures 
of  the  intenser  passions,  and  makes  the  spectators  of  a  rope- 
dancer  writhe  and  twist  their  bodies  as  if  they  too  were  in 
imminent  peril.  Imagination  artfully  incited  is  a  more  potent 
bane  or  antidote  than  can  be  found  in  the  whole  materia  med- 
ica.  One  who  falsely  believes  that  he  has  swallowed  an  active 
drug  often  suffers  all  its  real  consequences.  Thinking  and 
reading  about  a  fancied  malady  often  prostrate  the  patient 
with  its  actual  symptons.  Even  the  death-stroke  is  sometimes 
so  far  anticipated  that  the  sentenced  criminal  dies  before  it 
has  fallen.  The  stigmata  of  St.  Francis,  and  the  periodic 
bleeding  afresh  of  wounds  on  the  hands,  feet,  and  brow  of  Lou- 
ise Lateau  and  other  fanatics,  do  not  need  to  be  accounted  for 
by  any  cause  more  mysterious  than  the  ill-regulated  fervor  of 
their  own  religious  emotions.  What  is  called  the  coordinat- 
ing action  of  the  spinal  cord  and  the  sympathetic  ganglia  over 
the  vital  functions  of  the  body  cannot  be  rationally  conceived 
except  as  the  unconscious  action  of  mind  regulating  and  keep- 
ing in  play  the  curious  mechanism  which  it  originally  fashioned 
and  put  together. 

Inherited  resemblances  and  aptitudes  become  intelligible 
only  when  they  are  conceived  as  the  results  of  spiritual  endow- 
ments, and  as  transmitted  in  the  mind  and  character  which  the 
child  certainly  receives  by  direct  descent  from  the  parents.  I 
can  understand  how  certain  modes  of  thought  should  have  be- 
come habitual  to  the  intellect,  and  certain  modes  of  action  to 
the  will ;  for  we  know  from  experience  that  either  of  these 
faculties,  though  capable  almost  of  an  infinite  variety  in  its 
modes  of  operation,  may  yet  easily  fall  into  the  ruts  of  custom 
and  repeat  the  same  theme,  even  to  weariness.  But  I  cannot 
understand  how  the  mere  particles  of  brute  matter  should  con- 
tract any  habit  whatsoever,  except  of  being  systematically 
quiescent  and  changeless,  when  not  acted  upon  by  a  foreign 
force,  or  of  continuing  indefinitely  the  simple  rectilinear  or  vibra- 
tory motion  which  has  once  been  impressed  upon  them.  The 
Darwinian  gemmules,  inconceivably  minute  in  size,  are  nearly 
akin  to  the  Leibnitzian  Monads  ;  and,  like  these,  must  be  sup- 
posed to  be  units  of  spiritual  being,  which  furnish  the  only 
rational  theory  and  explanation  of  those  phenomena  of  heredi- 


196  THE  IDEA   OF   CAUSE. 

tary  transmission  and  efficient  and  final  causation  which  are 
manifested  in  the  organic  kingdom. 

Because  Efficient  Causation  is  conceivable  only  as  an  exer- 
tion of  force,  I  have  argued  that  it  must  be  regarded  as  Tran- 
seunt  and  transcendent ;  that  is,  as  operative  on  other  things 
ab  extra,  and  thereby  as  producing  change  externally  and  be- 
yond itself.  Hence  it  cannot  be  attributed  to  mere  brute 
Matter,  which  must  be  conceived  as  occupying  space,  and  there- 
fore as  limited  by  the  space  so  occupied.  But  does  such  tran- 
scendent action  become  any  more  intelligible  when  it  is  re- 
garded as  the  action  of  Mind  ?  In  one  respect  it  certainly 
does  ;  for  it  harmonizes  with  whatever  else  we  know  respecting 
the  nature  and  peculiar  functions  of  Mind.  Knowledge  is  one 
of  these  functions,  and  the  sphere  of  knowledge  is  certainly 
not  limited  to  what  takes  place  within  the  thinking  Ego,  but 
extends  to  what  lies  far  outside  of  it,  both  in  time  and  space. 
We  know  both  the  past  and  the  distant,  and  we  anticipate 
even  the  future.  Consequently,  as  the  mind  certainly,  in  one 
sense,  extends  its  sphere  of  operation  out  of  itself,  and  even  goes 
beyond  the  limits  of  the  body,  in  order  to  knou\  we  may  Avell 
believe  that  it  exercises  an  equally  transcendent  power  in  order 
to  act.  As  I  have  already  argued  in  the  previous  article,  the 
thinking  Self  (which  is  the  proper  designation  of  what  is  usu- 
ally called  "  mind  "),  since  it  is  absolutely  one  and  indivisible, 
does  not  occupy  space,  and  yet  is  undeniably  present  to  the 
whole  nervous  organism  which  it  animates.  All  that  is  inside 
of  the  skin  is  also  inside  of  consciousness.  I  feel  not  only  at 
my  finger-tips,  but  over  the  whole  surface  of  my  body.  In- 
stantly, and  without  the  slightest  doubt,  I  localize  a  pain,  as  in 
the  head,  the  knee,  or  the  back,  and  put  my  finger  at  once  upon 
the  spot  where  a  mosquito  has  stung  me.  Without  the  least 
difficulty  or  effort,  the  will  bends  any  joint  and  contracts  any 
muscle  that  is  usually  subject  to  its  conscious  action.  Granted 
that  we  cannot  conceive  lv>w  the  Ego  exercises  this  marvellous 
power  ;  still  the  fact  is  unquestionable  that  it  does  exercise  it  ; 
it  is  omnipresent  to  the  whole  body. 

It  is  also  easy  to  show  that  the  thinking  Self  is  not  any  more 
subject  to  the  limitations  of  Time,  than  to  those  of  Space. 
Analyze  even  the  simplest  act  of  memory,  and  you  will  find 


THE   IDEA   OF  CAUSE.  197 

that,  not  merely  a  mental  image  or  picture  of  what  has  been, 
but  the  Past  itself,  must  be  actually  present  to  consciousness. 
What  enables  me  to  decide  without  hesitation,  that  the  portrait 
now  before  me  presents  either  an  accurate  or  an  unfaithful 
copy  of  the  features  of  my  friend,  who  died  ten  years  ago? 
An  act  of  comparison  is  necessary  here ;  the  painter's  work  can 
be  judged  only  by  a  reference  to  the  living  face  of  which  it 
professes  to  be  a  copy.  Then  that  living  face  must  even  now 
be  present  to  my  consciousness  ;  otherwise,  I  should  have  no 
standard  whereby  to  estimate  the  artist's  work.  But  you  will 
doubtless  say  that  this  standard  is  only  a  mental  image,  only 
another  picture  called  up  by  the  imagination,  and  attested  by 
the  memory  to  be  a  faithful  likeness.  Consider  for  a  moment, 
however,  and  you  will  find  that  this  answer  leaves  the  matter 
short,  as  it  merely  pushes  the  difficulty  one  step  farther  back. 
For  the  question  immediately  recurs,  What  convinces  me  that 
the  picture  thus  presented  by  my  imagination  is  a  more  faith- 
ful portrait  than  the  one  on  canvas  ?  Of  course,  memory  says 
that  this  one  is  the  true  image,  and  the  other  is  only  a  coun- 
terfeit. But  how  could  memory  say  so,  except  through  com- 
paring both  pictures,  the  one  seen  by  the  outward  sense  and 
the  other  visible  only  to  the  mind's  eye,  with  the  original  of 
which  they  both  profess  to  be  a  copy  ?  Turn  the  matter  as  we 
may,  then,  the  Past  must  be  veritably  present  to  consciousness, 
or  we  could  know  nothing  about  it  except  by  vague  conjecture. 
Memory  does  not  conjecture,  but  affirms  with  absolute  convic- 
tion, even  repeating  its  testimony  on  oath  when  a  question 
of  life  or  death  is  pending.  As  I  have  elsewhere  urged,  we 
could  not  be  sure  of  our  personal  indentity,  if  our  past  Self 
and  our  present  Self  were  not  both  present  to  consciousness,  so 
as  to  be  compared  with  each  other  and  recognized  as  identical. 
Hence  I  feel  constrained  to  adopt  the  conclusion,  which  is 
accepted  also  by  Dean  Mansel  and  Schopenhauer,  that  the  con- 
scious Self  is  independent  both  of  Time  and  Space.  Its  acts 
and  manifestations,  indeed,  as  presented  either  to  the  external 
senses  or  to  consciousness,  are  necessarily  subject  to  these  two 
forms  and  conditions  of  all  phenomenal  being.  My  volition 
can  appear  in  outward  act  only  through  movements  which  re- 
quire Space  ;  and  my  thoughts  are  subject  to  the  law  of  Time, 


198  THE  IDEA  OF   CAUSE. 

since  they  can  be  presented  only  in  succession  to  my  conscious- 
ness. But  the  conscious  Subject  of  these  mental  states  be- 
longs to  the  realm  of  ontology,  or  pure  being ;  it  is  a  nou- 
menon,  and  as  such  it  transcends  the  laws  and  conditions  of  all 
phenomena.  It  is  finite  indeed,  and  therefore  limited  and  de- 
pendent ;  it  can  act,  remember,  and  think  only  within  the  re- 
stricted sphere  marked  out  for  it  by  an  all-wise  Providence. 
But  though  his  finite  nature  exposes  him  to  error  and  sin,  Man 
is  still  made  in  the  image  of  God  ;  he  is  free,  responsible,  and 
immortal,  while  neither  of  these  three  attributes  belongs  to  any 
other  form  of  created  being.  And  he  is  also  made  after  the 
likeness  of  his  Creator,  in  that  the  unity  and  indivisibility  of 
his  inmost  being  emancipate  him  from  the  laws  of  Space,  while 
his  responsibility  and  undying  nature  are  equally  free  from  the 
limitations  of  Time. 


THE  LATEST  FORM  OF  THE  DEVELOPMENT 

THEORY. 

FROM    THE    MEMOIRS    OF    THE    AMERICAN    ACADEMY,    NEW    SERIES,    VOL.    V. 

Communicated  March  27,  April  10,  and  May  1,  1860. 

IT  is  a  familiar  truth  in  palaeontology,  that  the  various  races 
or  species  of  animal  and  vegetable  life  which  now  tenant  the 
earth,  or  have  formerly  tenanted  it,  did  not  originate  all  at 
once,  but  have  been  introduced  at  different  and  widely  sepa- 
rated epochs.  Those  of  which  the  remains  are  entombed  in 
the  earlier  fossiliferous  strata  are  now  all,  or  nearly  all,  extinct ; 
only  a  few  among  the  Invertebrates  have  living  representatives 
at  the  present  day.  And  as  the  process  of  extinction  was  not 
sudden  or  sweeping,  but  gradual  and  protracted,  so  the  new 
species  appeared  in  succession,  after  long  intervals  of  time,  to 
fill  the  vacant  places.  "  It  appears,"  to  adopt  Sir  C.  Lyell's 
language,  "  that  from  the  remotest  periods,  there  has  been  ever 
a  coming  in  of  new  organic  forms,  and  an  extinction  of  those 
which  preexisted  on  the  earth  ;  some  species  having  endured 
for  a  longer,  others  for  a  shorter  time  ;  while  none  have  ever 
reappeared  after  once  dying  out."  The  species  which  are  now 
in  existence  belong,  geologically  speaking,  to  comparatively  re- 
cent times  ;  indeed,  none  of  the  higher  order  among  them  are 
found  in  a  fossil  state  at  all. 

Only  two  theories  are  possible  as  to  the  origin  of  all  the  spe- 
cies which  have  thus  been  successively  introduced  upon  the 
earth.  The  one  refers  the  beginning  of  each  to  a  special  act  of 
creative  power.  The  work  of  creation,  upon  this  view,  was  not 
begun  and  ended  at  one  time,  but  has  been  frequently  renewed 
and  extended,  no  period  being  without  some  manifestations  of 
it  in  the  appearance  of  new  forms  of  life.  This  doctrine  rests 
upon  the  fact,  confirmed  by  all  observation,  that,  in  the  ordinary 


200    THE  LATEST  FORM  OF  THE  DEVELOPMENT  THEORY. 

process  of  reproduction,  each  species  gives  birth  only  to  those  of 
its  own  kind.  It  is  contrary  to  universal  experience,  in  the 
case  of  well  recognized  and  perfectly  distinct  species,  that  fer- 
tile offspring,  capable  of  continuing  their  own  race,  should  be 
specifically  different  from  their  parents.  Accordingly,  if  a  new 
form  or  species  appears,  it  cannot  have  been  produced  by  or- 
dinary generation,  but  must  have  been  specially  created. 

The  other  theory,  resting  mainly  upon  obscure  and  anoma- 
lous cases,  or  upon  processes  supposed  to  be  of  so  great  length 
that  man  cannot  have  witnessed  the  beginning  and  end  of 
them,  assumes  that  various  species  have  been  developed  out  of 
one  another  by  ordinary  descent,  the  progeny  appearing,  either 
immediately  or  after  many  generations,  specifically  different 
from  their  parents  or  ancestors.  According  to  this  view,  the 
multiplication  of  species  takes  place  by  a  process  perfectly 
analogous  to  that  of  the  multiplication  of  individuals  of  the 
same  species,  though  it  is  more  infrequent,  or  requires  a  greater 
length  of  time  for  its  completion.  This  is  the  Development 
Theory,  so  called,  which  has  been  maintained,  with  various 
modifications,  by  Maillet,  in  a  work  called  the  "  Telliamed," 
by  the  French  naturalist,  Lamarck,  by  the  English  author  of 
the  "Vestiges  of  Creation,"  and  in  its  latest  form  by  Mr. 
Charles  Darwin.  The  earlier  forms  of  it  have  been  rejected 
by  the  well-nigh  unanimous  verdict  of  the  scientific  world;  the 
latest  has  been  urged  with  so  much  ability  and  candor,  and 
has  already  found  so  many  adherents,  that  it  merits  distinct 
and  respectful  consideration. 

Mr.  Darwin's  theory  of  the  origin  of  species  by  development 
really  consists  of  five  distinct  steps  or  processes,  which  need  to 
be  sharply  distinguished  from  each  other,  though  two  or  more 
of  them  are  often  confounded  under  the  same  name. 

1.  Individual  Variation.  —  It  is  a  well-known  fact,  that  in- 
dividual plants  and  animals  are  occasionally  found  to  vary  by 
slight  peculiarities  from  the  general  type  of  the  race  or  breed 
to  which   they  belong.     The  offspring  is  made  a  little  bigger 
or  a  little  smaller  than  its  parent;  or  some  organ,  member,  or 
limb  is  abnormally  repeated  or  deficient,  or  wrongly  placed,  or 
unusually  developed,  whether  by  excess  or  defect. 

2.  Inherited  Variation.  —  Generally,  these  abnormal  traits 


THE  LATEST  FORM  OF  THE  DEVELOPMENT  THEORY.    201 

are  found  only  in  the  individuals  in  which  they  first  appear, 
the  offspring  of  these  reverting  immediately  to  the  ancestral 
or  common  type.  Sometimes,  they  are  continued  by  descent 
through  two  or  three  generations,  and  then  finally  disappear. 
Less  frequently,  if  at  all,  they  are  continued  by  inheritance  in- 
definitely, so  as  to  become  the  distinguishing  mark  of  a  pecul- 
iar breed.  Mr.  Darwin's  theory  rests  exclusively  upon  those 
which  are  thus  perpetuated  by  inheritance  ;  "  any  variation," 
he  says,  "  which  is  not  inherited,  is  unimportant  for  us." 

3.  Cumulative  Variation.  —  One  peculiarity  having  been  per- 
petuated by  inheritance,  it  is  assumed   that  another  may  be 
superinduced  upon    it  by  a  perfectly  analogous   process,   and 
then  a  third,  and  so   on   indefinitely  ;  so  that  the  divergence 
from  the  parent  stock,  at  first  slight  and  unimportant,  may  be 
extended  as  far  as  we  please,  till  it  will  bridge  over  the  inter- 
val between  the  two  extremes  of  animal  life.     Thus,  if  time 
enough  be  allowed  for  the  process,  we  can  account  for  the  de- 
velopment of  man  himself  out  of  a  zoophyte. 

4.  The  Struggle  for  Life.  —  Every  species  of  animal  and  veg- 
etable life,  the  human  species  included,  can  multiply  its  own 
numbers  without   end,  this  capability  being  always   exercised 
according  to  the  law  of  a  geometrical  progression.     If  it  were 
exerted   to  the  utmost,   without   any  check  from  external  cir- 
cumstances, any  species  might  be  so  multiplied  that  it  would 
soon  need  to  occupy  the  whole  face  of  the  earth.     But  as  this 
power  is  possessed  by  all,  there  must  be  perpetual  competition 
between  them  for  the  ground  and  for  food.     A  battle  for  exist- 
ence is  constantly  going  on,  the  stronger  species  always  tending 
to  push  out  the  weaker,  the  one  better  adapted  to  the  locality 
or  the  strife  forever  usurping  the  place  of  its  less  qualified  rival. 
Hence  the  extinction  of  the  countless  races  whose  existence  is 
now  known  only  from  their  remains  imbedded  in  the  rocks. 

5.  Natural  Selection.  —  Through  the  three  processes  of  Va- 
riation, Nature  is  perpetually  furnishing  fresh  combatants  for 
this  unceasing  strife ;  and  any  peculiarity,  however  slight,  of 
one  of  the  new  races,  may  be  a  source  of  strength  or  weakness, 
and  thus  lead  to  victory  or  defeat  in  the  contest,  —  that  is,  to 
the  preservation  or  extinction  of  one  or  more   parties   to  it. 
Each  variation,  if  it  be  an  improvement  in  the  adaptation  of  an 


202    THE  LATEST  FORM  OF  THE  DEVELOPMENT  THEORY. 

organ  to  a  function,  or  of  a  species  to  its  locality  or  environ- 
ment of  circumstances,  will  tend  to  preserve  the  race  ;  if  the 
opposite,  to  kill  it  out.  Thus  the  nicest  adaptations  of  means 
to  ends  are  accounted  for,  without  any  necessity  of  supposing 
that  they  were  intentional  or  designed.  The  success,  however 
insured,  of  any  new-comer  over  its  immediate  competitor,  is 
often  attended  with  a  train  of  consequences  fatal  to  the  contin- 
uance of  a  whole  set  of  preexistent  species,  and  favorable  to  the 
ultimate  introduction  of  new  ones  in  their  place. 

It  appears  from  this  analysis,  that  the  appellation  which  Mr. 
Darwin  has  given  to  his  own  theory  is  a  misnomer.  He  calls  it 
"  the  Origin  of  Species  by  Means  of  Natural  Selection,  or  the 
Preservation  of  Favored  Races  in  the  Struggle  for  Life."  But 
it  is  evident  that  the  origin  of  species  is  fully  accounted  for,  if 
at  all,  by  the  first  three  steps  of  Variation,  which  alone  explain 
the  introduction  and  indefinite  multiplication  of  new  forms  of 
life  ;  of  the  two  remaining  steps,  one,  the  Struggle  for  Life,  is 
of  use  only  to  account  for  the  extinction  of  species  formerly  in 
being ;  and  the  other,  Natural  Selection,  is  adduced  merely  to 
explain  that  nice  adaptation  of  means  to  ends,  so  apparent 
throughout  the  animal  and  vegetable  kingdoms,  which  has 
been  held  to  prove  design,  and  so  to  evince  the  intelligence  of 
the  Creative  Cause.  A  theorist  who  denies  the  necessity  of 
any  intervention  of  such  a  Cause  at  any  period  subsequent  to 
the  introduction  of  the  first  poor  germ  of  life  upon  the  earth 
is,  of  course,  bound  to  show  how  these  adaptations  became  so 
numerous  and  so  perfect ;  and  Natural  Selection  is  the  very 
ingenious  hypothesis  which  Mr.  Darwin  has  framed  for  this 
purpose. 

The  state  of  the  evidence  upon  each  of  these  five  points,  and 
the  bearing  of  each  upon  the  main  question,  may  be  briefly 
summed  up  as  follows  :  — 

1.  Individual  Variation  is  the  one  admitted  fact  upon  which 
the  whole   theory  rests,  but  which,  considered  in  itself  alone, 
does  not  aid  us  at  all  in  the  attempt  to  explain  the  introduc- 
tion of  new  raws  of  being.     It  accounts  at  the  utmost  for  the 
appearance  of  new  individuals. 

2.  Inherited  Variation  is  more  questionable,  the  general  rule 
undoubtedly  being  that  peculiar    and  anomalous  features  — 


THE  LATEST  FORM  OF  THE  DEVELOPMENT  THEORY.    203 

deformities,  monstrosities,  or  lusua  naturce,  as  they  are  often 
termed  —  are  either  not  transmitted  at  all  by  descent,  or  dis- 
appear in  the  course  of  two  or  three  generations.  Whether 
they  disappear  because  a  congenital  peculiarity,  like  an  acquired 
one,  such  as  a  scar,  a  callus,  or  a  stiffened  joint,  not  affecting  the 
organs  of  reproduction,  has  no  tendency  to  reproduce  itself  in 
the  offspring;  or  because  the  monstrosity  is  itself  a  sign  or  a 
consequence  of  some  weakness  or  defect  of  constitution,  whereby 
the  varying  individual  is  rendered  less  capable  than  others  of 
continuing  its  kind  ;  or  because  the  necessary  crossing  of  the 
altered  breed  with  one  that  is  unaltered  soon  reduces  the  ab- 
normal growth  to  nothing  ;  or  that  breeding  in  and  in,  which 
results  from  the  avoidance  of  crossing,  so  weakens  the  stock 
that  it  soon  ceases  to  be  fertile  ;  or  whether  several  of  these 
causes  combined  hasten  the  work  of  extinction,  —  certain  it  is, 
that  Nature  makes  haste  to  eliminate  these  departures  from 
type,  and  to  preserve  her  own  original  stamp  unchanged.  Art 
may  to  some  extent,  and  with  much  painstaking,  counteract 
Nature,  laboring  to  preserve  and  continue  the  abnormal  devel- 
opments which  happen  to  suit  man's  convenience  or  fancy, 
through  enforced  isolation  and  regimen,  diligent  culture,  or 

O  O  O  ' 

multiplying  or  changing  the  food  ;  but  the  very  necessity  of 
adopting  these  expedients  shows  the  tendency  of  Nature  to  be 
the  other  way,  towards  the  extinction  of  the  forced  growth. 
As  Mr.  Darwin  himself  remarks,  "  sterility  is  the  bane  of  our 
horticulture  ;  "  and  with  all  the  care  and  skill  of  the  most  ex- 
pert breeder  of  cattle,  the  progeny  of  his  best  specimens  often 
disappoint  his  expectations,  and  show  an  unmistakable  ten- 
dency to  revert  and  degenerate. 

Of  course,  it  is  admitted  that  what  are  called  permanent 
"  Varieties "  exist,  which,  with  but  few  precautions,  may  be 
made  to  breed  true ;  but  that  these  so-called  kt  Varieties " 
originated  in  Individual  Variations  perpetuated  by  inheritance, 
or  that  they  were  not  just  as  much  original  or  special  creations 
as  the  Species  themselves  under  which  they  are  ranked,  is 
matter  only  of  hypothesis  and  conjecture.  With  respect  to  the 
numerous  "  Varieties  "  of  our  dogs,  horses,  sheep,  goats,  pig- 
eons, etc.,  Mr.  Darwin  ';  believes,"  or  is  "  doubtfully  inclined 
to  believe,1'  or  is  "  fully  convinced,"  that  they  came  either 


204    THE  LATEST  FORM  OF  THE  DEVELOPMENT  THEORY. 

from  one  wild  stock,  or  from  several  ;  or  he  "  can  form  no  opin- 
ion "  on  the  subject.  But  science  cannot  be  made  to  rest  on 
mere  "  opinion."  That  we  cannot  trace  the  history  of  these 
Varieties  ab  origine  is  confessed.  We  cannot  trace  the  stream 
to  the  fountain-head  ;  but  wre  can  follow  it  far  enough  to  be 
sure  that  it  has  remained  unchanged  for  thousands  of  years. 
The  greyhound  existed  under  the  form  which  it  now  bears  at 
least  as  early  as  some  of  the  oldest  sculptures  in  Egypt ;  and 
various  "  breeds  "  of  pigeons  were  pets  of  the  Pharaohs  about 
five  thousand  years  ago. 

8.  But  with  whatever  success  the  doctrine  of  Inherited  Vari- 
ation may  be  applied  to  explain  the  existence  of  Varieties,  it 
is  certain  that  the  origin  of  Species  can  be  accounted  for,  on 
the  Development  Theory,  if  at  all,  only  by  Cumulative  Varia- 
tion, —  that  is,  only  by  supposing  a  vast  number  of  Inherited 
Variations  to  be  successively  superinduced  one  upon  another. 
Doubts  have  been  raised  upon  this  point  only  on  account  of 
ambiguity  in  the  meaning  of  words,  or  from  w7ant  of  agree- 
ment as  to  the  principles  of  classification.  Many  races,  both 
of  animals  and  vegetables,  appear  to  be  so  nearly  allied  to  each 
other,  that  certain  naturalists  consider  them  as  mere  Varieties; 
others  persist  in  considering  them  as  so  many  distinct  Species. 
Mr.  Darwin  himself  remarks,  that  the  distinction  between 
Varieties  and  Species  is  "  entirely  vague  and  arbitrary  ;  "  and 
says,  in  reference  both  to  plants  and  animals,  "  that  many 
forms,  considered  by  highly  competent  judges  as  Varieties, 
have  so  perfectly  the  character  of  Species,  that  they  are  ranked 
by  other  highly  competent  judges  as  good  and  true  Species." 
Fortunately  we  do  not  need,  so  far  as  our  main  question  is 
concerned,  to  enter  into  the  intricacies  of  this  discussion.  The 
advocates  of  the  Development  Theory  undertake  to  prove  that 
all  Species  of  animals,  even  those  differing  most  widely  from 
each  other,  "  have  descended  from  at  most  four  or  five  pro- 
genitors, and  plants  from  an  equal  or  lesser  number."  Put- 
ting aside  altogether,  therefore,  the  much  debated  question 
whether  the  several  races  of  men  are  only  Varieties,  or  are  so 
many  distinct  Species,  and  the  same  question  with  respect  to 
dogs,  there  is  no  doubt  that  men  and  dogs  belong  respectively 
to  different  Species.  And  generally,  putting  aside  the  question 


THE   LATEST   FORM   OF   THE   DEVELOPMENT   THEORY.         205 

whether  the  offspring  of  certain  races,  when  crossed,  are  entirely 
sterile  or  only  partially  so,  there  is  no  doubt  that  animals  or 
plants  belong  to  distinct  Species  when  they  cannot  be  crossed 
or  made  to  interbreed  at  all.  It  is  enough  to  say,  then,  that 
only  Cumulative  Variation  —  and  that  of  a  vast  number  of 
successive  steps  —  will  account  for  the  common  origin  of  ani- 
mals which  will  not  copulate  with  each  other,  or  of  plants 
which  cannot  be  crossed. 

Now,  on  this  cardinal  point,  which  contains  the  essence  of 
the  Development  Theory,  since  all  the  other  questions  involved 
in  it  are  of  no  substantive  importance,  so  far  as  what  may  be 
called  the  Philosophy  of  Creation  is  concerned,  the  direct  evi- 
dence fails  altogether,  and  we  are  left  exclusively  to  the  guid- 
ance of  conjecture,  and  analogy,  and  estimates  of  what  is  pos- 
sible for  all  that  we  know  to  the  contrary.  It  is  not  even 
pretended  that  we  have  any  direct  proof,  either  from  observa- 
tion or  testimony,  that  two  Species  so  distinct  that  they  will 
not  interbreed  have  yet  sprung  from  common  ancestors.  On 
the  contrary,  Mr.  Darwin's  own  supposition  is,  that  the  proc- 
ess of  developing  two  entirely  distinct  Species  out  of  a  third 
is  necessarily  so  gradual  and  protracted  as  to  require  a  quasi 
eternity  for  its  completion,  so  that  only  a  small  portion  of  it 
could  have  been  accomplished  during  the  limited  period  of 
man's  existence  upon  the  earth. 

In  the  absence  of  any  direct  proof,  then,  it  remains  to  be  in- 
quired if  there  are  sufficient  grounds  of  probability,  reasoning 
from  analogy  and  the  principles  of  inductive  logic,  for  believ- 
ing that  all  Species  of  animals  and  plants  may  have  originated 
from  three  or  four  progenitors.  In  speaking  of  the  amount 
and  frequency  of  Individual  Variation,  Mr.  Darwin  and  his 
followers  abuse  the  word  tendency.  After  heaping  up  as  many 
isolated  examples  of  it  as  they  can  gather,  they  assert  the  le- 
gitimate inference  from  such  cases  to  be,  that  the  species  tends 
to  vary,  leaving  out  of  view  the  fact  that  a  vastly  larger  num- 
ber of  individuals  of  the  same  species  do  not  vary,  but  conform 
to  the  general  type.  And  though  only  one  out  of  a  hundred 
of  these  Individual  Variations  is  transmitted  by  inheritance, 
yet,  after  collecting  as  many  instances  of  such  transmission  as 
they  can  find,  they  affirm  that  a  Variation  tends  to  become 


206    THE  LATEST  FORM  OF  THE  DEVELOPMENT  THEORY. 

hereclitable.  But  it  is  not  so.  Tendency  is  rightly  inferred 
only  from  the  majority  of  cases  ;  a  small  minority  of  favor- 
able instances  merely  shows  the  tendency  to  be  the  other  way. 
Thus,  the  cars  do  not  tend  to  run  off  the  track,  although  one 
train  out  of  a  thousand  may  be  unlucky  enough  to  do  so  ;  but 
the  general  law  is,  that  they  remain  on  the  track.  Otherwise, 
people  would  not  risk  their  lives  in  them.  So  a  considerable 
number  of  children  have  been  born  with  six  fingers  on  each 
hand,  and  a  still  greater  number  with  harelips.  And  yet  we 
say  that  the  tendency  is  for  each  hand  to  have  only  five  fin- 
gers, and  for  the  upper  lip  and  palate  to  be  closed.  The  ad- 
vocates of  the  Development  Theory  violate  the  first  principles 
of  inductive  logic,  by  founding  their  induction  not,  as  they 
should  do,  on  the  majority — the  great  majority — of  cases, 
but  on  the  exceptions,  the  accidents.  Their  whole  proceeding 
is  an  attempt  to  establish  a  philosophy  of  nature,  or  a  theory 
of  creation,  on  anomalies,  —  on  rare  accidents, — on  lusus 
naturce, 

Tliis  single  objection  is  fatal  to  Mr.  Darwin's  theory,  which 
depends  on  the  accumulation,  one  upon  another,  of  many  suc- 
cessive instances  of  departure  from  the  primitive  type.  For 
if  even  Individual  Variation  appears  only  in  one  case  out  of  a 
hundred, — and  all  naturalists  will  admit  this  proportion  to  be 
as  large  as  the  facts  will  warrant,  —  and  if,  out  of  the  cases  in 
which  it  does  appear,  not  more  than  one  in  a  hundred  is  per- 
petuated by  inheritance,  then  should  a  second  Variation  hap- 
pen, what  chance  has  it  of  leaping  upon  the  back  of  one  of  the 
former  class?  The  chance  is  one  out  of  100  X  100  X  100  = 
1,000,000.  And  the  chance  of  a  third  Variation  being  added 
to  a  second,  which  in  turn  has  been  cumulated  upon  a  first, 
will  be  one  out  of  100  raised  to  the  fourth  power,  or  100,000,- 
000.  It  is  not  necessary  to  carry  the  computation  any  farther, 
especially  as  Mr.  Darwin  states  that  the  process  of  develop- 
ment can  be  carried  out  "  only  by  the  preservation  and  accu- 
mulation of  infinitesimally  small  inherited  modifications."  Of 
course,  the  interval  between  two  Species  so  distinct  that  they 
will  not  interbreed  could  be  bridged  over  only  by  a  vast  num- 
ber of  modifications  thus  minute;  and  on  this  calculation  ol 
the  chances,  the  time  required  for  the  development  of  one  ol 


THE   LATEST    FORM    OF   THE   DEVELOPMENT    THEORY.         207 

these  Species  out  of  the  other  would  lack  no  characteristic  of 
eternity  except  its  name.  But  the  theory  requires  us  to  be- 
lieve that  this  process  has  been  repeated  an  indefinite  number 
of  times,  so  as  to  account  for  the  development  of  all  the  Species 
now  in  being,  and  of  all  which  have  become  extinct,  out  of 
four  or  five  primeval  forms.  If  the  indications  from  analogy, 
on  which  the  whole  speculation  is  based,  are  so  faint  that  the 
work  cannot  have  been  completed  except  in  an  infinite  lapse 
of  years,  these  indications  practically  amount  to  nothing.  The 
evidence  which  needs  to  be  multiplied  by  infinity,  before  it 
will  produce  conviction,  is  no  evidence  at  all. 

4.  What  is  here  called  the  "  Struggle  for  Life  "  is  only  an- 
other name  for  the  familiar  fact,  that  every  Species  of  animal 
and  vegetable  life  has  its  own  Conditions  of  Existence,  on 
which  its  continuance  and  its  relative  numbers  depend.  Re- 
move any  one  of  these  Conditions,  and  the  whole  Species  must 
perish  ;  abridge  any  of  them,  and  the  number  of  individuals  in 
the  Species  must  be  lessened.  The  intrusion  of  a  new  race 
which  is  more  prolific,  more  powerful,  more  hardy,  or  in  any 
way  better  adapted  to  the  locality,  may  gradually  crowd  out 
some  of  its  predecessors,  or  restrict  them  within  comparatively 
narrow  bounds.  Thus  the  introduction  of  the  Norway  rat  has 
banished  the  former  familiar  plague  of  our  households  and  barns 
from  many  of  its  old  haunts,  and  probably  reduced  the  whole 
number  in  this  Species  to  a  mere  fraction  of  what  it  once  was. 
Civilized  man  also  has  successfully  waged  war  against  many 
ferocious  or  noxious  animals,  and  probably  exterminated  some 
of  them.  But  the  appearance  of  a  rival  or  hostile  race  is  not 
the  only  cause  of  such  diminution  or  extinction.  A  change 
in  the  physical  features  of  a  given  district  may  partially  or 
entirely  depopulate  it,  without  the  necessary  introduction  of 
any  new-comers.  The  drying  up  or  filling  up  of  a  lake  is  nec- 
essarily fatal  to  all  its  aquatic  tribes.  The  gradual  submer- 
gence of  an  island  or  a  continent  must  exterminate,  sooner  or 
later,  all  the  native  Species  which  were  peculiar  to  it.  And  at 
the  utmost,  the  failure  of  any  Condition,  of  Existence,  what- 
ever may  be  its  character,  only  leaves  vacant  ground  for  the 
future  introduction  or  creation  of  new  forms  of  life,  without 
tending  in  the  slightest  degree  to  bring  such  new  forms  into 
existence. 


208    THE  LATEST  FORM  OF  THE  DEVELOPMENT  THEORY. 

5.  Natural  Selection,  also,  as  already  remarked,  lias  noth- 
ing to  do  with  the  origin  of  Species,  and,  in  its  abstract  form, 
is  only  the  statement  of  a  truism.  Of  course,  when  two  or 
more  Species  crowd  each  other,  the  more  prolific  or  more 
vigorous,  other  things  being  equal,  is  more  likely  to  gain  pos- 
session of  the  disputed  ground,  and  thus  to  diminish  the  num- 
bers of  the  other,  or  oblige  it  to  migrate,  or,  in  rare  cases,  to 
kill  it  out  altogether.  But  this  last  supposition  is  a  conceiv- 
able rather  than  a  probable  result.  All  observation  goes  to 
show,  that  every  Species  retains  a  very  persistent  hold  upon 
life,  however  feeble  may  be  the  tenure  of  existence  for  its  in- 
dividual members.  Its  numbers  may  be  materially  dimin- 
ished ;  it  may  be  forced  to  shift  its  ground,  and  to  suffer  in 
consequence  some  slight  change  in  its  habits  (Mr.  Darwin 
himself  tells  us  of  upland  geese,  and  of  woodpeckers  where 
there  are  no  trees)  ;  it  may  be  driven  into  holes  and  corners  ; 
but  somehow  it  still  survives.  Utter  extinction  of  a  Species 
is  one  of  the  rarest  of  all  events  ;  not  half  a  dozen  cases  can 
be  enumerated  which  are  known  to  have  taken  place  since 
man's  residence  upon  the  earth.  And  these,  surely,  are  a  very 
insufficient  basis  on  which  to  found  a  theory  embracing  all 
forms  uf  life.  Yet  man  is  the  greatest  exterminator  the  world 
has  ever  known.  His  physical  powers,  coupled  with  the  use  of 
reason  by  which  they  are  multiplied  a  thousand-fold,  enables 
him  to  wage  internecine  war  with  comparative  ease  against 
nearly  every  race  that  molests  him.  Only  the  insect  tribes, 
through  their  immense  numbers  and  their  littleness,  can  suc- 
cessfully defy  him  ;  and  these  not  always.  In  his  Struggle 
for  Life,  all  other  creatures,  animal  or  vegetable,  must  retreat 
or  perish.  Yet  how  few  has  he  rooted  out  altogether  !  But 
the  Development  Theory  requires  us  to  believe  that  this  proc- 
ess of  extinction,  guided  by  Natural  Selection,  has  been  re- 
peated well-nigh  to  infinity.  Not  only  all  the  races  which  are 
now  found  only  in  their  stone  coffins,  but  countless  others,  — 
"  the  interminable  number  of  intermediate  forms  which  must 
have  existed  "  as  connecting  links,  and  a  still  greater  crowd 
of  other  Varieties  not  intermediate,  but  gross,  rude,  and  pur- 
poseless in  their  formation, — the  unmeaning  creations  of  an 
unconscious  cause,  —  must  all  have  perished,  each  through 


THE  LATEST  FORM  OF  THE  DEVELOPMENT  THEORY.    209 

its  own  peculiar  repetition  of  a  series  of  events  so  infrequent 
that  we  can  hardly  compute  the  chances  of  their  happening 
in  any  one  case. 

It  is  easy  to  see  why  the  extermination  of  a  species,  even 
upon  the  conditions  of  Mr.  Darwin's  theory,  should  be  so  infre- 
quent. He  holds  that  all  the  races  which  have  originated  upon 
the  earth,  since  the  primeval  act  of  creation  first  grudgingly 
threw  only  four  or  five  seeds  of  existence  into  the  ground,  have 
been  shaded  into  each  other  by  gradations  so  slight  as  to  be 
nearly  imperceptible.  Differing  so  slightly  from  each  other, 
the  advantage  possessed  by  any  one  of  them  in  the  Struggle 
for  Life  must  have  been  almost  indefinitely  small.  But  a  pecu- 
liarity important  enough  to  preserve  those  who  have  it,  while 
whole  species  must  die  out  because  they  have  it  not,  cannot 
be  thus  trifling  in  character.  It  must  have  been  one  of  grave 
moment;  not  a  slight  variation,  but  a  jump.  The  succes- 
sive development  of  new  races — itself,  as  we  have  seen,  an 
extremely  slow  process  —  must  have  been  continued  through 
numerous  steps,  before  the  divergence  resulting  from  it  could 
have  been  serious  enough  to  enable  one  of  the  divergent  stocks 
to  overcome  and  exterminate  the  other.  Numerous  species  of 
the  same  genus  now  coexist,  often  within  the  bounds  of  a  not 
very  extended  territory,  without  any  one  of  them  showing  any 
tendency  to  supplant  or  exterminate  another.  Thus,  South 
Africa  is  the  country  par  excellence  of  the  antelope ;  about 
fifty  species  of  this  animal  have  been  found  there,  many  of 
them  very  abundant,  notwithstanding  the  numerous  Carnivora 
that  prey  upon  them;  and  yet  none  of  them  showing  any  ten- 
dency to  die  out  before  civilized  man  came  thither,  and  brought 
gunpowder  along  with  him. 

Natural  Selection  can  operate  only  upon  races  previously 
brought  into  being  by  other  causes.  In  itself,  it  is  powerless 
either  to  create  or  exterminate.  In  the  Development  Theory, 
its  only  function  is,  when  the  number  of  different  species  is  so 
far  multiplied  that  they  crowd  upon  each  other,  and  the  extinc- 
tion of  one  or  more,  becomes  inevitable  (if  we  can  conceive  of 
such  a  case),  then  to  make  the  selection,  or  to  determine  which 
shall  be  the  survivors  and  which  the  victims.  As  individuals 
of  the  same  species,  the  same  variety,  and  even  of  the  same 

14 


210    THE  LATEST  FORM  OF  THE  DEVELOPMENT  THEORY. 

flock,  certainly  differ  much  from  each  other  in  strength,  swift- 
ness, courage,  powers  of  endurance,  and  other  qualities,  Natural 
Selection  has  an  undoubted  part  to  play,  when  the  struggle 
comes  for  such  a  flock,  in  determining  which  of  its  members 
shall  succumb.  But  that  it  ever  plays  a  corresponding  part  in 
the  grand  contest  of  species  imagined  by  Mr.  Darwin,  is  a 
supposition  resting  upon  no  evidence  whatever,  but  only  upon 
the  faint  presumption  afforded  by  the  fact,  that  certain  species 
at  widely  separated  times  have  become  extinct,  through  what 
causes  we  know  not;  and  therefore,  for  all  that  we  know  to 
the  contrary,  Natural  Selection  may  have  had  something  to  do 
with  their  disappearance.  This  is  to  found  a  theory,  not  upon 
knowledge,  but  upon  ignorance.  If  such  reasoning  be  legit- 
imate, we  are  entitled  to  affirm  that  the  moon  is  inhabited  by 
men  "whose  heads  do  grow  beneath  their  shoulders."  It  may 
be  so,  for  all  we  know  to  the  contrary. 

This  review  of  the  state  of  the  evidence  upon  each  of  Mr. 
Darwin's  five  points  is  enough  to  show  that  the  testimony  fails 
entirely  just  where  it  is  most  wanted.  Facts  and  arguments 
are  accumulated  where  they  are  of  little  or  no  avail,  because 
the  conclusions  to  which  they  tend,  when  properly  limited  and 
qualified,  are  admitted  and  familiar  principles  in  science.  But 
the  theory  of  the  Origin  of  Species  l>y  Cumulative  Variation, 
which  is  all  that  is  peculiar  to  this  form  of  the  transmutation 
hypothesis,  rests  upon  no  evidence  whatever,  and  has  a  great 
balance  of  probabilities  against  it.  Individual  Variation,  the 
Struggle  for  Life,  and  Natural  Selection,  each  within  clearly 
defined  limits,  are  acknowledged  facts,  which  still  leave  the 
main  question  in  the  philosophy  of  creation  precisely  where 
it  was  before  ;  and  even  the  doctrine  of  Inherited  Variation 
relates  only  to  the  origin  of  Varieties,  which  is  a  distinct  ques- 
tion, and  one  of  subordinate  importance  and  interest,  except 
to  naturalists.  Mr.  Darwin  has  invented  a  new  scheme  of 
cosmogony,  and  finds  that,  like  other  cosmogonies,  it  is  a  blank 
hypothesis,  not  susceptible  either  of  proof  or  disproof,  and 
needing  an  eternity  for  its  development.  There  is  nothing  new 
in  such  a  speculation  of  what  is  possible  in  an  infinite  lapse  of 
years.  Tin's  latest  form  of  the  speculation  has  no  advantage 
over  the  one  first  propounded  some  three  thousand  years  ago  ; 


THE  LATEST  FORM  OF  THE  DEVELOPMENT  THEORY.    211 

—  that  a  chaos  of  atoms,  moving  about  fortuitously  in  infinite 
space,  may  have  happened,  in  an  eternity,  to  settle  into  the 
present  kosmos ;  for  the  chance  of  order  and  fitness  is  at  least 
one  out  of  an  infinite  number  of  chances  of  disorder  and  con- 
fusion ;   and,  in  an  infinite  series  of  years,  this  solitary  chance 
must  sooner   or   later  be   realized.     Mr.  Darwin  begins,    not 
with  a  crowd  of  inorganic  atoms,  though  consistency  required 
him  to  do  so,  but  with  four  or  five  primeval  organisms  very 
low  down    in  the  scale, — say  zoophytes   and  mollusks  ;   and 
supposes  these   to  multiply  and  to  vary  their    organization  at 
random,  each  Variation,  if  an  improvement,  being  preserved, 
and  if  useless  or  injurious,  being  killed  out  by  Natural  Selec- 
tion ;  and  thus,   in  an  eternity,  the  present  kosmos  of  animal 
and  vegetable  life  may  have  been  perfected,  not  exactly  out  of 
chaos,  but  out  of  very  few  and  poor  rudiments  of  life,  without 
the  necessary  intervention  anywhere  of  an  intelligent  Creative 
Cause. 

Every  such  speculation  must  be  rejected,  because  it  is  self- 
contradictory.  It  professes  to  develop  a  Theory  of  Creation, 

—  to  explain  the  beginning  of  things  ;  and  in  order  to  do  so,  it 
is  obliged  to  assume  that  the  present  or  ordinary  succession  of 
phenomena,  the  common  sequence  of  causes  and  effects  which 
we  every  day  witness,  has  continued  from  eternity  ;   that  is, 
that  there  never  was  any  Creation,  and  that  the  universe  never 
began  to  be.     It  professes  to  untie  the  knot,  and  ends  by  deny- 
ing that  there  is  any  knot  to  untie.    Mr.  Darwin  is  too  imagin- 
ative a  thinker  to  be  a  safe  guide  in  natural  science  ;  he  has 
unconsciously  left  the  proper  ground  of  physics  and  inductive 
science,  and  busied  himself  with  questions  of  cosmogony  and 
metaphysics. 

We  are  at  liberty,  then,  to  consider  the  relations  of  this  De- 
velopment Theory  to  the  great  doctrines  of  philosophy  and 
theology,  without  shifting  the  question,  or  seeking  to  place  it 
upon  any  other  grounds  than  those  upon  which  the  author 
himself  bases  it ;  above  all,  without  seeking  to  build  up  an 
argument  ad  invidiam,  a  purpose  which  is  here  emphatically 
disclaimed. 

Most  interesting  and  important  among  these  relations  is  its 
bearing  upon  the  doctrine  of  Final  Causes.  The  denial  of 


212    THE  LATEST  FORM  OF  THE  DEVELOPMENT  THEORY. 

such  Causes  —  that  is,  the  doctrine  that  purpose,  intention,  or 
design  is  nowhere  discoverable  in  organic  nature  —  has  been 
reproachfully  urged  against  some  naturalists,  on  account  solely 
of  the  tendency  of  such  denial  to  weaken  the  arguments  of  the 
theist.  Of  course,  it  does  have  such  an  effect ;  for  what  has 
ever  been  the  principal,  most  intelligible,  and  most  popular 
argument  for  the  being  of  a  God  rests  entirely  upon  the  as- 
sumption that  adaptations,  especially  if  nice  and  complex, 
prove  design,  or  must  have  been  intended.  But  it  is  a  mistake 
to  suppose  that  Final  Causes  have  no  use  or  meaning  in  phi- 
losophy and  science,  apart  from  this  application  for  a  theolog- 
ical purpose.  Aristotle  first  described  and  designated  them, 
distinguishing  them  from  the  three  other  sorts  of  causes  (Ma- 
terial, Formal,  and  Efficient),  without  even  hinting  at  their 
bearing  on  the  doctrine  of  the  theist ;  while  Harvey  success- 
fully used  the  assumption  of  a  Final  Cause  as  an  instrument  of 
discovery,  and  Cuvier  did  the  same  ;  and  it  is  in  reference  only 
to  such  use,  viz.  as  instruments  of  physical  research,  that  Lord 
Bacon  condemned  the  study  of  Final  Causes. 

And  here  it  may  be  observed,  that  palaeontologists,  like  Mr. 
Darwin  and  Sir  Charles  Lyell,  cannot,  without  gross  inconsist- 
ency, repudiate  the  doctrine  of  Final  Causes  ;  for  in  so  doing, 
they  deny  the  justice  of  the  very  inference,  or  assumption, 
call  it  what  you  may,  on  which  their  whole  science  is  based. 
Geologists  have  no  better  reason,  and  no  reason  of  a  different 
kind,  for  affirming  that  fossil  animals  and  plants  did  once, 
millions  of  years  ago,  exist  as  living  animals  and  plants,  than 
philosophers  and  theologians  have  for  declaring  that  the  animal 
and  vegetable  kingdoms — i.  e.  God's  works  —  show  purpose 
and  intention  just  as  clearly  as  man's  works  do.  No  direct 
proof  is  possible  in  either  case.  The  only  argument  is  from 
analogy  and  an  appeal  to  common  sense.  The  sceptic  may 
defy  Mr.  Darwin  to  prove  directly,  that  the  Silurian  fossils 
did  not  exist  primarily,  ab  origine,  in  the  rock  where  we  now 
find  them,  —  composed  of  stone,  as  they  now  are.  For,  take 
th<>  doctrine  of  Democritus  and  Epicurus,  which,  as  already 
intimated,  is  the  progenitor  of  this  Development  Theory.  If 
the  mere  fortuitous  concourse  of  atoms,  in  the  lapse  of  a  past 
eternity,  can  have  formed  a  living  tree,  fish,  or  elephant,  then, 


THE  LATEST  FORM  OF  THE  DEVELOPMENT  THEORY.    213 

we  say,  that  same  rudderless  and  purposeless  crowd  of  primeval 
atoms,  in  the  lapse  of  a  past  eternity,  can  have  formed,  what 
is  much  easier,  a  fossil  tree,  fish,  or  elephant,  as  fossils. 

Yet  Mr.  Darwin  assumes  the  previous  existence  of  these 
fossils  in  a  living  state,  as  a  means  of  building  up  a  theory 
which  shall  enable  him  to  assert,  that  "a  structure  even  as  per- 
fect as  the  eye  of  an  eagle  might  be  formed  by  natural  se- 
lection ; "  that  is,  without  any  special  design  or  intention  to 
create  an  organ  of  vision.  He  admits  that  "it  is  scarcely  pos- 
sible to  avoid  comparing  the  eye  to  a  telescope.  We  know 
that  this  instrument  has  been  perfected  by  the  long-continued 
efforts  of  the  highest  human  intellects ;  and  we  naturally  infer 
that  the  eye  has  been  formed  by  a  somewhat  analogous  process." 
But  he  asks,  "  May  not  this  inference  be  presumptuous  ? 
Have  we  any  right  to  assume  that  the  Creator  works  by  in- 
tellectual powers  like  those  of  man?"  But  this  is  not  the 
question.  There  is  just  as  much  "  presumption  "  in  assuming 
to  determine  that  the  Creator  ow/lit  not  to  work  in  a  given 
manner,  or  through  certain  "  intellectual  powers,"  as  in  taking 
it  for  granted  that  he  ivould  or  must  employ  such  means.  In 
either  case,  this  is  assuming  to  set  bounds  to  Omnipotence,  and 
to  prescibe  how  Infinite  Wisdom  ought,  or  ought  not,  to  act. 
Our  only  business,  as  students  of  natural  science,  is  to  follow 
the  evidence  wherever  it  may  lead  us,  and  to  be  consistent  in 
the  inferences  which  we  draw  from  it,  leaving  it  to  philoso- 
phers and  theologians  to  reconcile,  if  they  can,  our  conclusions 
with  their  preconceived  ideas  of  what  is  becoming  to  the  Cre- 
ator. If  they  cannot  reconcile  them,  so  much  the  worse  for 
their  preconceived  ideas.  Our  only  question  is,  Whether  it  is 
consistent  to  infer,  from  a  general  analogy  of  structure  with 
living  forms  at  the  present  day,  that  certain  fossilized  skeletons 
were  living  organisms  millions  of  years  ago,  though  we  confi- 
dently deny,  in  spite  of  the  far  more  striking  analogy  between 
an  eagle's  eye  and  a  telescope,  that  an  intelligence  presided 
over  the  formation  of  the  one  similar  to  that  which  we  know 
to  have  concurred  in  the  production  of  the  other?  Can  we 
justly  infer  life  from  a  general  analogy  of  structure,  while  we 
refuse  to  infer  intelligence  from  a  far  more  obvious  analogy  in 
the  adaptation  of  means  to  ends  ?  Mr.  Darwin  and  Professor 


214    THE  LATEST  FORM  OF  THE  DEVELOPMENT  THEORY. 

Baden  Powell  answer  this  question  in  the  affirmative  ;  and  it 
is  for  them  to  defend  their  consistency  as  they  may. 

The    purpose    of   the    Development    Theory,  in  any  of    its 
forms,  is  to  exclude  the  necessity  of  believing  in   any  special 
creative  act,  or  any  exertion  of  intelligence  and  will,  and  to 
refer  all  physical  phenomena,  the  first  appearance  of  new  and 
distinct  races  included,  to  the  continuous  and  uninterrupted 
action  of  what   are   called  secondary  causes,  or  natural  laws. 
In  pursuance  of  this  purpose,  even  the  primitive  act  of  crea- 
tion, by  which  the  universe  was  first  evolved  out  of  nothing- 
ness, or  out  of  a  chaotic  mass,  is  either  denied,  or,  what  is.  the 
same  thing,  is  removed  to  an  infinite  distance.     An  absolute 
beginning,  either  of  the  universe,  or  of  any  species  of  animal 
or  vegetable  life  in  the  universe,  is,  on  this  Theory,  an  impossi- 
ble or  inadmissible  conception.     Alluding  to  the  opponents  of 
this  doctrine,  Mr.  Darwin  observes  :   "  These  authors  seem  no 
more  startled  at  a  miraculous  act  of  creation  than  at  an  ordi- 
nary birth.     But  do  they  really  believe  that,  at  innumerable 
periods  in  the   earth's   history,  certain  elemental  atoms  have 
been  commanded  suddenly  to  flash  into  living  tissues  ?  "     And 
Professor  Powell  still  more    distinctly  remarks,   "  that  strict 
science  offers  no  evidence  of  the  commencement  of  the  existing 
order  of  the  universe.     It  exhibits,  indeed,  a  wonderful  succes- 
sion of  changes ;  but  however  far  back  continued,  and  of  how- 
ever vast  extent  and  almost  inconceivable  modes  of  operation, 
still  only  changes  ;  occurring  in  recondite  order,  however  little 
as  yet  disclosed,  and  in  obedience  to  physical  laws  and  causes, 
however  as  yet  obscure  and  hidden  from  us.     Yet  in  all  this 
there  is  no  beginning  properly  so  called  :  no  commencement 
of  existence  when  nothing  existed  before  :  no  creation  in  the 
sense  of  origination  out  of  non-existence,  or  formation  out  of 
nothing.     Even  without  referring  to  that  metaphysical  concep- 
tion, or  more  properly  metaphysical  contradiction,  to  imagine 
anything  which  can  be  strictly  called   a  beginning,  or  first  for- 
mation, or  endowment  of  matter  with   new  attributes,  or  in 
whatever  other  form  of  expression  we  may  choose  to  convey 
any  such  idea,  is  altogether  beyond  the  domain  of  science,  as  it 
is  an  idea  beyond  the  province  of  human  intelligence." 

Still  it  might  be  maintained  that,  although  science  gives  us 


THE  LATEST   FORM   OF    THE  DEVELOPMENT   THEORY.        215 

no  glimpse  of  a  Creator,  it  does  point  to  an  Architect  of  the 
universe,  in  so  far  as  it  discovers  and  analyzes  the  innumera- 
ble and  marvellous  adaptations  of  means  to  ends,  by  which  this 
earth  is  rendered  a  fitting  and  convenient  habitation  for  all  the 
tribes  that  tenant  it,  and  by  which  the  organization  of  each 
plant  and  animal  is  nicely  adjusted  to  the  place  which  it  oc- 
cupies, and  to  the  work  which  it  has  to  perform.  To  rebut  this 
conclusion,  Mr.  Darwin  brings  forward  his  improvement  of  the 
transmutation  theory,  in  which,  as  already  remarked,  the  office 
of  Natural  Selection  is  to  explain  and  account  for  all  natural 
adaptations  and  adjustments,  even  the  nicest  and  most  com- 
plex, without  any  necessity  of  supposing  that  they  were  in- 
tentional or  designed,  and  consequently  without  any  need  of 
referring  them  to  the  action  of  an  all-wise  Architect. 

A  careless  thinker  might  yet  argue,  that  Natural  Selection 
itself  is  only  an  agent  of  the  Deity,  or  a  law  established  by 
Him  for  the  very  purpose,  of  effecting  the  adaptations  which 
are  ascribed  to  it,  and  which  would  therefore  still  be  properly 
regarded  as  the  work  of  Him  by  whose  will  and  wisdom 
they  were  fashioned.  But  such  an  argument  would  betray 
only  confusion  of  thought.  For  "  Natural  Selection  "  is  neither 
a  created  thing,  nor  a  cause,  nor  a  law  dependent  on  the  voli- 
tion of  a  lawgiver  ;  but  it  is  an  abstraction  and  a  general- 
ization. It  is  not  "  Natural  Selection  "  that  kills  out  one  or 
more  species,  and  preserves  others  ;  but  climate,  food,  space, 
enemies,  — or  the  want  of  them,  — these  do  the  work  of  kill- 
ing or  preserving.  God  no  more  created  or  enacted  the  law 
of  Natural  Selection,  than  he  created  or  enacted  the  Binomial 
Theorem.  The  Binomial  Theorem  is  the  necessary  result  of 
the  necessary  relations  of  numbers,  and  even  Omnipotence 
could  not  abrogate  it.  Just  so,  Natural  Selection  is  the  inevit- 
able result  of  the  relations  of  animals  to  their  conditions  of 
existence  ;  or  rather,  it  is  a  general  expression  for  these  rela- 
tions themselves  ;  and  thus  Omnipotence  could  not  abrogate 
it.  Change  the  climate,  food,  space,  enemies,  etc.,  and  Natural 
Selection  would  still  act,  but  would  kill  where  it  now  pre- 
serves, and  preserve  where  it  now  kills.  Thus,  the  results  of 
the  Theory  are  necessary  or  fatalistic  ;  they  blot  God  out  of 
creation  everywhere. 


216    THE  LATEST  FORM  OF  THE  DEVELOPMENT  THEORY. 

Moreover,  in  regard  to  the  peculiarities,  or  Individual  Va- 
riations, on  which  the  Theory  is  based,  and  on  which  this 
principle  of  selection  is  to  operate,  there  is  an  equal  exclusion 
of  intelligence  and  will,  and  even  of  law  and  order.  As  already 
explained,  these  peculiarities  are  the  exceptions  and  monstrosi- 
ties, —  the  phenomena  which  least  of  all  admit  of  being  re- 
duced to  law,  or  referred  to  the  action  of  any  uniform  cause. 
These  aimless  and  exceptional  lusus  naturce,  as  they  appear 
to  most  observers,  form  the  chaos  or  rude  matter  of  the  Devel- 
opment Theory,  on  which  the  principle  of  Natural  Selection, 
like  the  deus  ex  machina,  is  to  operate,  and  evolve  order  out 
of  confusion  and  complex  adaptations  out  of  accident.  In  fact, 
this  principle  would  have  nothing  to  do,  —  it  would  not  be 
selection,  —  if  the  Individual  Variations  were  not  multiplied  at 
random,  and  were  not  purposeless  in  character.  The  essence 
of  the  hypothesis  is,  that  "  there  is  a  power  always  intently 
watching  each  slight  accidental  alteration,"  and  finding  a  use 
or  fitness  where  none  was  intended  ;  just  as  a  savage,  wander- 
ing on  a  sea-beach,  may,  after  long  search,  find  a  stone  which 
has  a  rude  semblance  of  a  chisel  or  an  axe,  and  use  it  as  such. 
Hence  Mr.  Darwin  speaks  consistently  of  '•  giving  a  better 
chance  of  profitable  Variations  occurring ;  and  unless  profita- 
ble Variations  do  occur,  Natural  Selection  can  do  nothing." 
But  they  will  occur,  for  "  Variation  will  cause  the  slight  al- 
terations, generation  will  multiply  them  almost  infinitely,  and 
Natural  Selection  will  pick  out  with  unerring  skill  each  im- 
provement," separating  it  from  countless  others  which  are  not 
improvements,  but,  as  useless  or  injurious,  are  to  be  elimin- 
ated. "  Mere  chance,  as  we  may  call  it,  might  cause  one  vari- 
ety to  differ  in  some  character  from  its  parents."  True,  it  is 
afterwards  explained  that  chance,  as  here  used,  does  not  nega- 
tive a  cause.  No  one  supposed  that  it  did  ;  but  it  does  nega- 
tive any  purpose  or  intelligence  in  that  cause ;  and  Mr.  Dar- 
win intimates  nothing  to  the  contrary. 

There  can  be  no  mistake  as  to  the  character  of  such  a 
scheme  of  cosmogony  as  this.  Creation  denied,  or  pushed 
back  to  an  infinite  distance,  and  a  blind  or  fatalistic  principle 
watching  over  a  chaos  of  unmeaning  and  purposeless  things, 
and  slowly  eliciting  from  them,  during  an  eternity,  all  the 
order  and  fitness  which  now  characterize  the  organized  world. 


THE  LATEST   FORM   OF   THE   DEVELOPMENT   THEORY.         217 

"It  cannot  be  objected  that  there  has  not  been  time  suffi- 
cient for  any  amount  of  organic  change  ;  for  the  lapse  of  time 
has  been  so  great  as  to  be  utterly  inappreciable  by  the  human 
intellect."  Having  cited  the  speculation  of  the  "unifonni- 
tarian  "  geologists  upon  the  long  roll  of  ages,  "  the  millions 
on  millions  of  years  "  needed  for  the  explanation  of  geological 
phenomena,  according  to  their  mode  of  reading  them,  it  seems 
a  trifling  matter  for  him  to  ask  us  to  admit,  that  ages  of  equal 
or  even  greater  length  may  have  elapsed,  of  which  we  have 
no  record  in  the  rocks  ;  that,  besides  the  eternity  of  which 
we  have  some  sort  of  geologic  evidence,  we  should  acknowl- 
edge the  probable  lapse  of  another  eternity  that  has  left  no 
legible  traces  behind  it,  but  which  happens  to  be  necessary 
for  the  purposes  of  his  theory.  "  Consequently,"  he  says,  "  if 
my  theory  be  true,  it  is  indisputable  that,  before  the  lowest 
Silurian  stratum  was  deposited,  long  periods  elapsed,  as  long 
as,  or  probably  far  longer  than,  the  whole  interval  from  the 
Silurian  age  to  the  present  day  ;  and  that  during  these  vast, 
yet  quite  unknown,  periods  of  time,  the  world  swarmed  with 
living  creatures."  "  At  a  period  immeasurably  antecedent  to 
the  Silurian  epoch,  continents  may  have  existed  where  oceans 
are  now  spread  out  ;  and  clear  and  open  oceans  may  have 
existed  where  our  continents  now  stand." 

Such  speculations  as  these  appear  to  be  rather  exercises  of 
fancy  than  sober  inferences  of  science.  A  mere  hypothesis 
of  indefinite  Cumulative  Variation,  resting  upon  analogy  in 
the  absence  of  all  direct  proof,  must  be  allowed  also  to  create 
its  own  evidence  of  the  inconceivable  lapse  of  time  requisite  for 
its  development,  instead  of  drawing  that  evidence  from  dis- 
tinct and  independent  sources. 

Professor  Powell,  in  his  advocacy  of  the  Development  The- 
ory, argues  at  length  against  the  doctrine  of  Final  Causes  ;  but 
there  is  only  one  sentence  in  Mr.  Darwin's  volume  from  which 
we  can  infer  the  nature  of  his  objections  to  the  same  doctrine. 
Speaking  of  the  facts  included  under  the  general  name  of 
Morphology,  he  says  :  ts  Nothing  can  be  more  hopeless  than  to 
attempt  to  explain  this  similarity  of  pattern  in  members  of 
the  same  class,  by  utility  or  the  doctrine  of  Final  Causes." 
Admitting  for  a  moment  the  correctness  of  this  assertion, 


218    THE  LATEST  FORM  OF  THE  DEVELOPMENT  THEORY. 

what  does  it  amount  to  ?  Surely  it  will  not  be  maintained, 
that  because  Final  Causes  cannot  be  discovered  everywhere, 
therefore  they  do  not  exist  anywhere.  No  one  will  contend, 
that  because  \ve  cannot  see  the  use  of  the  rudimentary  mammae 
in  the  male,  therefore  the  corresponding  organs  in  the  female 
are  not  adapted  to  the  suckling  of  her  young.  As  well  might 
it  be  argued  that  the  rain  does  no  good  in  moistening  the 
parched  earth,  because  other  rain-drops  are  seemingly  wasted 
by  falling  into  the  sea.  To  the  reflecting  theist,  the  general 
similarity  of  structure  declares  the  unity  of  the  Creatoi',  with- 
out contradicting  the  lessons  taught  by  special  adaptations 
respecting  His  benevolence  and  forethought.  To  borrow  Mr. 
Darwin's  own  example:  "What  can  be  more  curious,"  he 
asks,  "  than  that  the  hand  of  a  man  formed  for  grasping,  that 
of  a  mole  for  digging,  the  leg  of  a  horse,  the  paddle  of  the 
porpoise,  and  the  wing  of  the  bat,  should  all  be  constructed 
on  the  same  pattern,  and  should  include  the  same  bones,  in 
the  same  relative  position?"  Of  course,  by  "  the  same"  pat- 
tern, "the  same"  bones,  and  "the  same"  relative  position, 
Mr.  Darwin  means  a  similar  pattern,  similar  bones,  position, 
etc. ;  that  is,  that  the  pattern,  bones,  and  position  are  alike  in 
part,  and  different  in  part.  Granted,  then,  that  the  doctrine  of 
Final  Causes  will  not  explain  the  likeness  ;  will  that  of  Mor- 
phology explain  the  difference  ?  The  typical  anterior  limb  is 
modified  in  many  different  ways,  so  as  to  become  adapted  to 
the  wants  of  animals  with  different  habits  ;  it  becomes  a  hand 
for  man,  a  shovel  for  a  mole,  a  paddle  for  a  porpoise,  and  a 
wing  fur  a  bat.  The  similarities  in  the  pattern  or  ground- 
work are  referred  to  one  principle  in  science,  Morphology  ; 
the  peculiarities  in  each  special  adaptation,  to  another  princi- 
ple, that  of  Final  Causes.  Both  the  like  and  the  unlike  are 
constituent  parts  of  one  structure  ;  they  are  referred  respec- 
tively to  different,  but  not  contradictory  principles;  and  since 
neither  of  these  principles  is  competent  for  the  explanation  of 
the  whole  work,  we  see  not  why  one  of  them  should  be  ac- 
cepted to  the  rejection  of  the  other.  Guided  by  the  doctrine 
of  Homologies,  the  comparative  anatomist  searches  for  corre- 
sponding parts  in  different  animals;  guided  by  that  of  Final 
Causes,  whenever  he  finds  a  marked  peculiarity  in  one  part, 


THE  LATEST  FORM  OF  THE  DEVELOPMENT  THEORY.    219 

he  suspects  there  is  a  special  use  or  function  to  be  subserved 
by  it ;  and  by  persevering  in  the  search,  he  usually  finds  out 
what  this  use  is.  Thus,  Harvey  found  that  the  valves  in  the 
veins  and  arteries  opened  in  opposite  directions  ;  and  assum- 
ing that  this  difference  could  not  t>e  without  a  use  or  purpose, 
he  discovered  the  circulation  of  the  blood.  Homologies  may 
be  the  better  guide  to  systems  of  classification  of  parts  and 
members,  though  naturalists  are  not  agreed  upon  this  point. 
But  the  principle  of  Final  Causes  more  frequently  leads  to 
discoveries  in  physiology,  which  science,  indeed,  has  been  built 
up  almost  exclusively  by  its  aid. 

The  theist  believes,  it  is  true,  that  a  Creator  of  infinite  wis- 
dom and  benevolence  has  made  nothing  in  vain  ;  that  there  is 
a  use  for  everything,  and  a  use  which  it  was  intended  to  serve. 
But  he  cannot  assert  that  he  has  discovered  this  use  and  fath- 
omed this  intention  in  every  instance,  without  assuming  that 
he  possesses  infinite  wisdom  himself.  And  the  naturalist  who, 
because  he  cannot  discover  the  use,  affirms  that  it  does  not  ex- 
ist, is  guilty  of  similar  presumptuous  folly.  Looking  at  the 
works  of  finite  intelligence,  indeed,  we  find  that^a  purpose  is 
seldom  unaccompanied  by  a  want  of  purpose  ;  that  chance  ap- 
pears, so  to  speak,  as  the  residuum  of  design.  Thus,  we  often 
throw  a  stone,  not  intending  to  hit  anything  with  it,  but  only 
to  toss  it  out  of  tlpe  way.  The  throwing  was  intentional,  the 
hitting  was  accidental.  Every  act  is  attended  with  several  im- 
mediate results;  and  as  all  of  them  are  not  necessarily  in  view 
of  the  agent  at  the  time,  those  which  do  not  enter  distinctly 
into  his  purpose  are  ascribed  to  chance.  They  are  caused  by 
him,  but  not  intended  by  him.  A  mechanic  cannot  fashion  a 
machine,  an  artist  cannot  chisel  out  a  statue,  without  leaving 
behind  him  a  heap  of  chips,  dust,  and  refuse  matter.  A  chip 
is  struck  off  at  every  blow  ;  but  neither  its  shape,  nor  the  po- 
sition in  which  it  falls,  is  designed  by  the  artisan,  who  is  think- 
ing only  of  the  work  from  which  he  has  pared  it  away.  But 
because  we  cannot  discern  either  use  or  purpose  in  that  heap 
of  refuse  matter,  we  are  not  to  conclude  that  the  finished 
machine  or  statue  by  the  side  of  it  is  destitute  of  both.  Ab- 
sence of  purpose,  then,  may  often  be  affirmed  of  the  results 
of  human  labor ;  but  it  can  never  be  declared  with  certainty 


220    THE  LATEST  FORM  OF  THE  DEVELOPMENT  THEORY. 

of  the  works  of  creation.  Infinite  wisdom  leaves  no  residuum 
for  chance,  and  that  which  is  not  subservient  to  one  purpose 
may  have  been  intended  for  another.  If  not  useful  to  the  or- 
ganism in  which  it  is  found,  it  may  answer  some  higher  object 
in  the  economy  of  creation.  It  may  be  a  means,  and  intended 
as  such,  for  the  higher  education  of  man,  or  for  the  attainment 
of  moral  as  well  as  physical  ends. 

The  same  remark  is  applicable  for  the  explanation  of  another 
difficulty  mentioned  by  Mr.  Darwin.  He  objects,  that  "  all 
the  contrivances  in  nature  are  not,  as  far  as  we  can  judge,  ab- 
solutely perfect,  and  some  of  them  are  even  abhorrent  to  our 
ideas  of  fitness."  And  he  cites,  as  instances,  the  sting  of  the  bee 
causing  the  bee's  own  death,  the  hatred  of  the  queen-bee  for  her 
own  fertile  daughters,  and  the  ichneumonidae  that  feed  within 
the  bodies  of  live  caterpillars.  He  might  as  well  have  adduced 
the  existence  of  all  the  Carnivora,  man  himself  included,  to- 
gether with  the  frequent  occurrence  of  pain  and  death.  We  are 
not  wont  to  hear  the  old  problem  respecting  the  existence  of  evil 
alleged  as  an  argument  in  favor  of  a  novel  speculation  in  zool- 
ogy. But  when  certain  arrangements  are  declared  to  be  imper- 
fect or  unfit,  we  have  a  right  to  ask  by  what  standard  they  have 
been  tried.  Perfect  for  what  end  ?  Fit  for  what  purpose  ?  If 
the  only  conceivable  intention  were  to  guard  the  life  of  every  in- 
dividual bee,  perhaps  a  more  effectual  means  might  have  been 
discovered  than  that  of  furnishing  it  with  any  sting  at  all. 
Many  insects  exist  in  vast  numbers  that  have  no  such  weapon. 
Human  knowledge,  also,  is  so  far  from  comprehending  the 
whole  plan  of  creation,  and  all  the  purposes  of  its  Author,  that 
it  seems  reasonable  to  admit  the  evidences  of  design  where 
they  are  so  obvious  that  they  cannot  be  overlooked,  and  to  re- 
fer all  other  cases  to  our  limited  means  of  observation  and  the 
imperfection  of  our  faculties.  The  difficulty,  moreover,  may 
be  retorted  upon  the  advocates  of  the  Development  Theory. 
As  Natural  Selection  preserves  only  the  useful,  and  kills  out 
all  worthless  and  noxious  Variations,  how  comes  it  to  have  left, 
in  a  weapon  otherwise  so  perfect,  this  one  fatal  defect,  that  it 
cannot  be  once  used  without  causing  the  death  of  its  owner  ? 

The  necessities  of  his  theory  compel  Mr.  Darwin  to  main- 
tain that  the  most  complex  instincts,  as  well  as  the  nicest  adap- 


THE  LATEST  FORM  OF  THE  DEVELOPMENT  THEORY.    221 

tations  of  structure,  can  have  been  produced  only  "  by  the  slow 
and  gradual  accumulation  of  numerous  slight,  yet  profitable, 
variations."  But  he  has  seemingly  failed  to  observe  that  in- 
stinct and  structure  are  nicely  correlated  to  each  other,  and 
must  be  so  correlated,  or  the  animal  would  perish.  Conse- 
quently, the  variations  of  structure  and  instinct  must  have  been 
simultaneous  and  accurately  adjusted  to  each  other,  as  a  modi- 
fication in  the  one,  without  an  immediate  corresponding  change 
in  the  other,  would  have  been  fatal.  He  has  also  failed  to  re- 
member, that  the  highest  and  most  complex  instincts  are  gen- 
erally found  in  very  low  structural  forms ;  for  instance,  among 
bees,  ants,  and  spiders,  rather  than  among  vertebrates,  and  in 
birds  more  than  in  mammals.  The  progress  of  improvement, 
then,  in  the  two  cases,  cannot  have  been  always  by  equal  and 
corresponding  steps  ;  for  the  development  of  instinct  stopped 
long  ago,  while  the  organic  structure  has  advanced  from  a  spi- 
der's up  to  a  man's.  It  is  not  a  law  of  nature,  then,  that  a 
change  of  the  organism  should  always  be  accompanied  by  a 
change  of  instinct  nicely  adapted  to  it ;  consequently,  the  De- 
velopment Theory  can  offer  no  explanation  of  the  fact,  that 
the  organism  must  always  have  harmonized  precisely  with  the 
instinct,  while  the  latter  was  slowly  perfected  by  innumerable 
variations.  It  is  impossible  that  so  nice  a  correspondence, 
maintained  between  the  two  during  countless  independent 
changes  of  each,  should  have  been  purely  accidental  or  uninten- 
tional. 

Those  who  deny  that  there  has  been  any  special  act  of  crea- 
tion since  living  forms  first  appeared  upon  the  earth,  are  bound, 
of  course,  to  account  for  the  origin  of  the  human  species,  just  as 
much  as  for  that  of  the  lowest  insect.  Mr.  Darwin  confesses 
as  much  when  he  says  that,  after  the  general  reception  of  his 
system,  "  psychology  will  be  based  on  a  new  foundation,  that 
of  the  necessary  acquirement  of  each  mental  power  and  capac- 
ity by  gradation.  Light  will  be  thrown  upon  the  origin  of  man 
and  his  history."  He  is  bound,  therefore,  to  find  the  means 
of  bridging  over,  by  innumerable  slight  gradations,  the  im- 
mense gap  which  now  separates  man  from  the  animals  most 
nearly  allied  to  him,  —  a  gap  not  only  between  the  two  struct- 
ural forms,  which,  however  dissimilar,  may  still  be  affirmed  to 


222    THE  LATEST  FORM  OF  THE  DEVELOPMENT  THEORY. 

be  of  the  same  kind,  but  between  reason  and  instinct,  where 
nearly  all  psychologists  are  agreed  that  the  difference  is  in 
kind,  and  not  merely  in  degree.  As  Sir  C.  Lyell  remarks, 
"  the  sudden  passage  from  an  irrational  to  a  rational  animal  is 
a  phenomenon  of  a  distinct  kind  from  the  passage  from  the 
more  simple  to  the  more  perfect  forms  of  animal  organization 
and  instinct." 

Here  an  obvious  objection  occurs,  founded  upon  the  compar- 
ative shortness  of  the  time  during  which  man  has  been  a  res- 
ident upon  the  earth.  "  Man,"  says  Lyell,  "  must  be  regarded 
by  the  geologist  as  a  creature  of  yesterday,  not  merely  in  refer- 
ence to  the  past  history  of  the  organic  world,  but  also  in  rela- 
tion to  that  particular  state  of  the  animate  creation  of  which 
he  forms  a  part."  Even  the  questionable  evidence  recently 
obtained  from  the  discovery  of  flint  knives  and  arrow-heads  in 
localities  where  their  presence  is  difficult  to  be  accounted  for, 
does  not  enable  us  to  ascribe  to  the  human  race  a  higher  an- 
tiquity than  that  of  the  later  post-Tertiary  formations.  Then 
the  interval  of  time,  within  which  far  the  broadest  chasm  which 
we  have  to  contemplate  in  zoology  is  to  be  filled  up  by  innu- 
merable transitional  forms,  is  certainly  the  shortest  which  geol- 
ogy has  revealed.  As  the  most  recent,  also,  it  is  one  the  history 
of  which  is  most  perfectly  known.  During  this  period,  cer- 
tainly, it  is  in  the  highest  degree  improbable  that  innumerable 
species  should  have  lived  and  died  out  without  leaving  behind 
them  any  trace  of  their  existence.  The  few  fossil  monkeys 
that  have  been  discovered  are  not  so  near  approximations  to 
the  human  form  as  several  anthropoid  species  that  are  now 
living.  How,  then,  can  man  have  been  developed  during  this 
short  epoch,  by  the  indefinitely  slow  process  of  Cumulative 
Variation  and  Natural  Selection,  out  of  a  monkey  ?  and  where 
are  the  countless  extinct  types  that  should  mark  the  steps  of 
his  progress  ?  How  many  vai'ieties  must  have  existed  as  strict 
transitional  forms  to  fill  up  this  broad  gap,  —  to  say  nothing  of 
the  greater,  infinitely  greater,  number  of  variations  which  were 
not  improvements,  but  which  must  also  have  appeared  and 
died  out  under  a  liability  to  change  having  no  direction  or  pur- 
pose but  that  of  chance  !  Geology  can  find  no  traces  of  them. 
The  latest  chapter  of  the  Stone  Book,  which  is  far  the  best 


THE  LATEST  FORM  OF  THE  DEVELOPMENT  THEORY.    223 

preserved,  and  which  ought  to  be  nearly  filled  with  variations 
upon  this  single  theme,  does  not  record  a  single  form  interme- 
diate between  man  and  the  chimpanzee. 

Moreover,  if  reason  has  been  developed  out  of  instinct, 
these  innumerable  forms  between  the  Quadrumana  and  the 
Bimana  must  have  had  an  enormous  advantage  in  the  Struggle 
for  Life  over  their  less  intelligent  competitors,  so  that  the  total 
disappearance  of  their  remains  becomes  still  more  inexplicable. 
Bones  of  their  brute  contemporaries,  hyenas,  bears,  rhinoceroses, 
elephants,  and  even  a  few  monkeys,  are  found  by  the  cart-load 
in  many  localities.  But  a  cro\vd  of  half-reasoning  animals, 
developed  out  of  orangs,  chimpanzees,  or  gorillas,  furnished 
with  tools  and  weapons,  and  capable,  if  we  may  judge  from 
their  other  semi-human  attributes,  of  adapting  themselves  to  a 
wide  range  of  circumstances,  and  which  ought,  consequently, 
to  have  multiplied  without  stint,  because  they  were  sure  to 
triumph  over  their  brute  rivals  in  every  contest  for  the  ground 
or  for  food,  have  yet  perished  so  entirely,  that  not  a  vestige  of 
their  skeletons  has  been  anywhere  discovered. 

The  doctrine  that  reason  has  been  developed  out  of  instinct, 
depends  entirely  upon  the  assumption  that  these  two  facailties 
differ  from  each  other  in  degree  only,  and  not  in  kind.  If  psy- 
chology is  to  be  placed  upon  a  new  foundation,  as  Mr.  Darwin 
assures  us,  "that  of  the  necessary  acquirement  of  each  mental 
power  and  capacity  by  gradation"  there  must  be  a  conceivable 
transition  from  instinct  to  reason  through  a  number  of  steps, 
every  one  of  which  must  be  an  improvement.  Here  we  are  at 
once  met  by  the  difficulty,  that  the  power  of  instinct,  in  many 
cases,  quite  transcends  that  of  reason  ;  if  it  differs  from  human 
intelligence  in  degree  only,  it  is  in  these  instances  undoubtedly 
the  superior.  Man  may  go  to  school  to  the  spider,  the  ant,  the 
wasp,  and  the  bee,  but  he  can  never  equal  his  teacher.  Com- 
pare the  habitations,  the  nets,  and  other  structures  of  these  in- 
sects, with  those  of  the  loAver  savages,  such  as  the  Hottentots 
and  the  native  Australians,  and  say  which  are  the  more  artistic 
and  the  more  nicely  adapted  to  their  purposes  ;  especially  when 
we  add  the  necessary  qualification,  that  the  insect  works 
without  any  tools  except  those  which  are  parts  of  its  own  body. 
Man  has  had  bitter  experience  enough  in  the  matters  of  gov 


224    THE  LATEST  FORM  OF  THE  DEVELOPMENT  THEORY. 

eminent  and  social  organization,  and  the  wisdom  of  thirty 
centuries  has  been  exhausted  in  pondering  upon  the  several 
problems  of  social  philosophy  ;  but  he  is  still  unable  to  form  a 
society  which,  in  point  of  orderly  arrangement,  harmony,  and 
effective  cooperation  for  the  general  good,  even  approaches  the 
excellence  of  a  hive  of  bees.  Since  the  latest  form  of  the  De- 
velopment Theory  allows  no  variation  to  be  preserved  and  per- 
petuated, except  it  be  an  improvement,  since  Natural  Selection 
inevitably  kills  out  every  change  except  it  be  for  the  better, 
how  comes  it  that  human  reason  has  deteriorated  in  all  these 
respects  ever  since  it  began  to  be  built  up  from  the  narrow 
foundations  of  an  insect's  instinct  ?  It  is  no  answer  to  say,  that 
reason  is  still  immeasurably  the  superior  in  the  number,  com- 
prehensiveness, and  ductility  of  its  endowments,  and  especially 
in  those  powers  of  adaptation  and  invention  by  which  it  is 
fitted  for  all  emergencies.  The  question  still  remains,  Why,  if 
it  has  improved  in  so  many  respects,  has  it  deteriorated  in 
any? 

But  the  difficulty  of  accounting  for  the  transmutation  of 
instinct  into  reason  becomes  vastly  greater,  when  it  is  remem- 
bered that  a  leading  characteristic  of  the  former  is,  that  it  ad- 
mits of  no  variation  whatever,  —  that,  as  far  as  human  obser- 
vation has  extended,  it  is  absolutely  unchangeable,  both  in  the 
individual  and  in  the  race.  Instinct,  it  is  true,  has  a  certain 
degree  of  pliability,  enough  to  provide  for  the  ordinary  and 
perpetually  recurrent  emergencies  of  the  special  occasion  for 
which  it  was  created.  Otherwise,  the  faculty  would  very 
seldom  answer  its  purpose,  or  be  competent  for  its  destined 
work.  Thus,  the  spider  which  always  fashions  a  regular  po- 
lygonal web,  as  it  can  seldom  or  never  find  a  nearly  circular 
opening  in  which  to  suspend  it,  must  be  able  to  change  the 
length  and  direction  of  the  suspending  threads,  so  as  to  hang 
the  structure  easily  and  economically  in  an  opening  of  any 
shape,  triangular,  quadrangular,  or  altogether  irregular,  such 
as  it  may  best  find.  But  the  absolute  invariability  of  the  in- 
stinct appears  even  here,  in  the  fact  that  the  web  of  this 
spider  is  always  polygonal  and  curiously  symmetrical,  though 
so  much  contrivance  is  thereby  needed  to  suspend  it  with 
proper  stiffness  ;  and  though  a  triangular  web,  such  as  is  al- 


THE  LATEST  FORM  OF  THE  DEVELOPMENT  THEORY.    225 

ways  spun  by  an  allied  species,  would  remove  all  difficulty 
and  answer  every  purpose.  The  range  of  this  pliability,  also, 
is  always  confined  within  very  narrow  limits.  The  instinct  is 
invariably  pliable  to  the  same  extent,  and  that  a  very  limited 
one.  Bees  and  wasps  build  cells  very  nearly  on  the  same 
pattern,  which  is  curiously  elaborate  and  symmetrical ;  they 
even  change  this  pattern  a  little,  so  as  to  fit  together  the  cells 
of  different  sizes  which  they  need,  or  to  hang  securely  the  top- 
most or  innermost  row  of  cells  to  the  top  or  side  of  their  habi- 
tation ;  always  returning,  however,  to  the  typical  form  of  the 
cell  as  soon  as  possible.  Bees  build  invariably  with  wax, 
and  wasps  invariably  with  a  paper-like  substance,  though  an 
interchange  of  these  materials  would  often  be  convenient,  and 
a  capacity  of  changing  the  material  on  an  emergency  would 
certainly  conduce  to  the  animal's  preservation. 

A  true  variation,  such  as  this  Theory  requires,  would  be  the 
manifestation  by  an  individual  in  the  wild  state,  or  undomes- 
ticated,  of  some  feat,  quality,  or  degree  of  instinct,  however 
slight,  totally  unlike  anything  that  had  been  manifested  by  its 
fellows.  Of  such  variation  the  observations  of  naturalists  have 
not  afforded  us  a  single  instance.  The  architecture  and  inter- 
nal economy  of  a  beehive  or  a  wasps'  nest,  so  far  as  known, 
marvellously  complex  and  elaborate  as  they  are,  have  not  va- 
ried by  a  hair's  breadth  since  the  days  of  Aristotle.  Bees  have 
been  carefully  watched  by  man  for  over  two  thousand  years  ; 
they  have  been  carried  by  him  to  a  vast  number  of  localities 
beyond  those  originally  inhabited  by  this  insect.  The  whole 
continent  of  America  has  been  populated  by  the  ordinary7  hive- 
bee  from  Europe.  Thus  the  experiment,  whether  change  of 
circumstances  might  not  possibly  induce  variation,  may  be 
said  to  have  been  fairly  tried.  There  are  from  15,000  to 
20,000  bees  in  every  healthy  hive ;  and  the  number  of  their 
hives,  taking  all  parts  of  the  world  together,  almost  defies 
calculation.  This  enormous  stock  of  them  has  to  be  renewed 
at  short  intervals,  as  the  bee's  life  does  not  usually  exceed  a 
single  year.  And  yet  the  typical  bee  cell,  with  all  its  mar- 
vellous symmetry  and  complexity,  finished  with  the  precision 
of  a  100,000th  part  of  an  inch,  has  not  changed  the  length  of 
one  of  its  lines  since  it  first  excited  the  astonishment  of  man. 

15 


226    THE  LATEST  FORM  OF  THE  DEVELOPMENT  THEORY. 

"With  this  known  amount  of  invariability,  how  great  is  the 
time  that  would  be  requisite  for  developing  the  instinct  of  a 
bee  into  human  reason  ? 

But  here  it  is  necessary  that  instinct  should  be  sharply  dis- 
tinguished from  some  of  the  other  powers  with  which  it  is 
generally  accompanied.  No  one  denies  that  the  brutes  have 
certain  mental  endowments  in  common  with  men.  They  have 
appetites,  propensities,  desires,  affections,  memory,  simple  im- 
agination, or  the  power  of  reproducing  the  sensible  past  in 
mental  pictures,  and  even  judgment  of  the  simple  or  intuitive 
kind.  They  compare  and  judge,  as  when  the  dog  or  cat  de- 
cides correctly  what  height  or  breadth  it  can  safely  jump,  or 
how  large  an  orifice  must  be  to  admit  the  passage  of  its  body. 
But  they  cannot  judge  by  inference,  or  through  the  interven- 
tion of  a  third  term  ;  that  is,  they  cannot  reason.  They  can- 
not generalize  their  experience,  and  thus  form  premises  from 
which  many  conclusions  can  be  drawn.  Their  judgment, 
as  intuitive,  is  always  of  the  particular  case  presented  to  their 
senses,  and  never  as  an  inference  from  a  general  rule.  The 
only  end  which  they  can  pursue,  or  even  contemplate,  apart 
from  the  guidance  of  instinct,  is  particular  and  immediate, 
dictated  by  the  appetite  or  impulse  of  the  moment.  Hence, 
they  cannot  combine  means  for  the  attainment  of  a  future  or 
general  object,  and  thus  their  modes  of  operation  are  never 
altered  or  improved. 

Instinct  is  the  power  given  to  compensate  for  these  deficien- 
cies, which  would  otherwise  be  fatal  to  life  or  destructive  of 
the  species.  It  appears  as  a  substitute  for  reason,  not  as  a 
lower  degree  of  it  ;  it  answers  the  same  purpose,  but  by  totally 
different  means.  Instinct  is  the  performance  by  an  animal  of 
some  act  (the  construction  of  a  nest  or  cell,  or  the  laying  of  a 
stratagem  for  catching  its  prey)  which  man  could  not  perform 
without  intelligence  or  reason,  properly  so  called  ;  that  is, 
without  experience  or  instruction,  the  observation  of  effects, 
the  induction  of  a  rule  or  law  from  them,  and  the  consequent 
future  choice  and  adaptation  of  means  to  ends.  This  act  the 
animal  demonstrably  performs  without  either  experience  or 
instruction,  but  just  as  blindly  as  the  bird  tucks  its  head  under 
its  wing  when  going  to  sleep,  without  knowing  why.  The 


THE  LATEST  FORM  OF  THE  DEVELOPMENT  THEORY.    227 

act  does  tend  to  some  useful  end,  though  the  animal  knows 
not  of  it.  Foresight  it  has  none,  unless  it  be  the  foresight  of 
a  god  rather  than  a  man  ;  for  human  prescience  is  nothing 
but  the  reflection  of  the  past  upon  the  mirror  of  the  future. 
Neither  reason  nor  instinct  supplies  an  object  of  endeavor, 
but  only  points  out  the  means  of  attainment,  the  former  re- 
lying exclusively  upon  experience,  the  latter  appearing,  at 
least  to  human  observation,  to  be  guided  by  inspiration.  A 
blind  propensity  induces  the  duckling  to  take  to  water  ;  in- 
stinct teaches  it  how  to  swim.  The  migratory  bird  is  urged 
by  a  vague  impulse  at  the  proper  season  to  change  its  coun- 
try ;  instinct  turns  its  flight  in  the  right  direction.  Sm-ely  it 
would  be  no  improvement  in  either  of  these  cases,  no  develop- 
ment of  a  higher  faculty  out  of  a  lower  one  of  the  same  kind, 
if  reason  were  substituted  for  instinct,  the  tardy  and  uncertain 
teachings  of  experience  for  the  instantaneous  and  unerring 
guidance  of  inspiration.  That  power  or  faculty,  call  it  what 
we  may,  bears  not  the  remotest  semblance  of  human  reason 
which  teaches  a  wasp,  born  only  after  the  death  of  its  parents, 
to  store  up  food  of  a  kind  which  it  never  uses  for  itself,  for 
the  use  of  its  young  which  it  is  never  to  see.  Neither  a  pro- 
pensity nor  an  appetite  is  an  instinct,  though  all  three  are 
equally  blind.  For  man  also  has  both  propensities  and  ap- 
petites which  need  not  the  promptings  of  intellect,  but  are 
awakened  before  reason  is  born  in  him.  Tastes,  smells,  and 
sounds  are  pleasant  or  odious  to  him  as  a  matter  of  original 
constitution,  and  not  because  his  reason  tells  him  that  these 
ought  to  be  sought,  and  those  to  be  avoided. 

This  is  not  an  arbitrary  definition  or  limitation  of  the  mean- 
ing of  the  word  instinct  ;  for  if,  as  Mr.  Darwin  says,  human 
reason  is  to  be  developed  out  of  the  brute's  endowments,  be 
these  what  they  may,  — if  man  is  the  son  of  a  monkey,  and  the 
grandson  of  a  horse,  and  the  remote  descendant  of  an  oyster, 
—  then  reason  must  crow  out  of  something  which  has  at  least 

O  O 

some  characteristic  of  reason,  or  which  does  the  work  of  rea- 
son ;  and  not  from  something  which  even  now,  in  man,  has  no 
resemblance  to  intellect  properly  so  called,  and  no  dependence 
upon  it,  and  which  appears  fully  even  in  an  idiot.  Tell  me 
that  reason  has  been  developed  out  of  instinct  as  it  has  now 


228    THE  LATEST  FORM  OF  THE  DEVELOPMENT  THEORY. 

been  defined,  and  at  least  I  know  what  you  mean ;  but  to  say 
that  it  has  been  evolved  from  an  appetite  or  a  propensity,  is 
as  incomprehensible  as  to  allege  that  an  idea  has  been  de- 
veloped out  of  a  football.  No  conceivable  variation  of  a  foot- 
ball will  approximate  it  to  reason.  Mr.  Darwin's  supposed 
cases  of  incipient,  altered,  or  lost  instincts  are,  at  best,  only 
instances  of  the  development  or  disappearance  of  blind  im- 
pulses or  appetites,  which  relate  only  to  the  selection  of  ends 
to  be  obtained,  and  not  to  devising  new  means,  or  improving 
old  ones,  of  obtaining  them.  He  has  not  adduced  one  case  of 
the  variation  of  instinct  properly  so  called. 

The  only  actions  of  man  which  seein  to  have  any  claim  to 
be  considered  as  instinctive,  are  those  prompted  by  the  feeling 
of  modesty  or  shame.  This  feeling  itself  is  not  an  instinct, 
any  more  than  the  emotions  of  pride,  emulation,  or  anger. 
But  the  actions  to  which  it  points  are  not  merely  natural  mani- 
festations of  strong  emotion,  but  are  peculiar  and  definite,  as 
if  devised  by  reason  for  the  attainment  of  a  specific  purpose. 
All  the  lower  animals  gratify  each  of  their  appetites,  as  nature 
prompts,  without  stint,  and  without  any  apparent  desire  of 
cover  or  concealment.  Man  alone  gratifies  one  of  them  only 
with  every  precaution  of  secrecy,  and  carefully  provides  a  cov- 
ering, not  needed  for  the  purposes  of  protection  or  warmth, 
for  certain  portions  of  the  body.  No  tribe  of  savages  has  ever 
been  discovered  so  rude  and  debased  as  to  manifest  complete 
indifference  respecting  such  precautions  and  coverings.  The 
adult  females  are  always  provided  with  some  clothing,  how- 
ever slight,  the  arrangement  of  which  indicates  the  purpose  for 
which  it  is  worn  ;  and  if,  in  a  very  few  instances,  adult  males 
are  found  unprovided  with  similar  coverings,  there  is  rea- 
son to  believe  that  extreme  poverty,  rather  than  indifference, 
is  the  cause  of  the  neglect.  The  fact,  that  children  under  the 
age  of  puberty  are  often  suffered  to  go  entirely  nude,  also  in- 
dicates the  purpose  of  the  covering.  However  slight  the  gar- 
ment may  be,  —  a  mere  girdle  with  the  natives  of  the  South 
Pacific  islands,  or  a  narrow  cloth  around  the  loins,  as  with  the 
savages  of  Central  Africa,  — travellers  relate  that  it  is  guarded 
with  much  care  and  jealousy,  and  that  the  removal  of  it  seems 
to  cause  as  much  pain  and  shame  as  would  result  from  entire 


THE  LATEST   FORM   OF   THE  DEVELOPMENT   THEORY.         229 

exposure  among  more  civilized  races.  Reason  and  experience 
could  not  have  indicated  to  savages  the  necessity  or  propriety 
of  this  slight  covering;  as  no  reason  can  be  assigned  for  it, 
apart  from  the  sacred  instinct  by  which  it  is  peremptorily  en- 
joined. If  this  be  an  instinct,  it  is  one  which,  unlike  all  other 
instincts,  does  not  conduce  to  the  preservation,  —  that  is,  to 
the  physical  safety,  —  either  of  the  individual  or  of  the  race. 
Man  might  live  in  this  respect  as  the  brutes  do,  and  live  as 
long  and  as  well.  Call  it  instinct,  propensity,  or  what  we 
may,  the  only  conceivable  purpose  for  which  it  was  implanted 
in  man  is  a  moral  purpose,  as  a  safeguard  for  the  right  devel- 
opment of  his  ethical  nature.  Hence  it  is,  that  the  entire  loss 
of  it,  which  sometimes  results  from  extreme  profligacy,  is 
shown  by  experience  to  be  equivalent  to  utter  moral  degrada- 
tion. This  view  of  the  subject,  it  may  be  added,  derives  some 
weight  from  the  allusion  to  it  in  the  history  of  our  first  par- 
ents, whether  that  history  be  regarded  as  revelation  or  tradi- 
tion. Man  has  no  instincts  to  keep  guard  over  his  physical 
well-being  ;  reason,  enlightened  by  experience,  and  stimulated 
by  affection,  is  abundantly  sufficient  for  this  end.  But  a  moral 
instinct,  indispensable  for  the  preservation  of  the  purity  of  his 
life,  and  thus  auxiliary  to  conscience,  is  his  never-failing  en- 
dowment. 

Any  form  of  the  Development  Theory  rests  ultimately  upon 
the  assumption,  that  the  origin  of  species  by  a  direct  act  of 
creation  is  inconceivable,  or  at  best  grossly  improbable.  Mr. 
Darwin,  as  already  mentioned,  speaks  with  wonder  of  those  who 
are  "  no  more  startled  at  a  miraculous  act  of  creation  than  at 
an  ordinary  birth."  And  Professor  Parsons,  in  a  communica- 
tion upon  the  same  subject  to  this  Academy,  declared  that, 
whatever  difficulties  might  impede  the  reception  of  the  trans- 
mutation hypothesis,  "  I  should  accept  them  all  unhesitatingly, 
rather  than  the  notion  that  the  first  horse,  or  dog,  or  eagle,  or 
whale  flashed  into  being  out  of  nothingness,  or  out  of  a  mass 
of  inorganic  elements  which  had  been  drawn  together  in  due 
proportion  for  that  purpose." 

In  opposition  to  this  view,  it  is  here  maintained  that  a  di- 
rect act  of  creation  is  no  more  inconceivable,  and  not  incon- 
ceivable in  any  other  sense,  than  an  ordinary  birth.  It  ex- 


230    THE  LATEST  FORM  OF  THE  DEVELOPMENT  THEORY. 

cites  more  wonder,  it  is  true ;  but  only  because  it  is  less 
frequent,  or  because  it  is  believed  to  take  place  more  abruptly. 
A  new  individual  —  a  new  being  —  is  the  result  in  either 
case  ;  but  to  assert  that  the  beginning  of  this  new  existence  is 
more  explicable  by  ordinary  generation  than  by  direct  crea- 
tion, is  equivalent  to  saying,  (if  the  folly  and  irreverence  of 
the  expression  may  be  pardoned,)  "  that  a  horse  should  create 
a  horse  is  conceivable  ;  but  that  God  should  create  a  horse  is 
inconceivable."  The  beginning  of  all  life  is  in  a  nucleated 
cell  of  microscopic  size.  The  original  formation  of  such  a 
cell,  and  the  subsequent  enlargement  or  rather  multiplication 
of  it  by  the  epigenesis  of  other  similar  cells,  are  distinct  acts 
of  creation  properly  so  called,  whether  preceded  or  not  by  a 
generative  union  of  the  parents.  That  the  generative  act 
should  be  ordinarily  followed  by  the  vivification  of  such  a  cell, 
is  a  law  of  nature,  which,  like  other  natural  laws,  does  not 
explain  the  phenomena,  nor  throw  any  light  upon  them,  but 
merely  describes  and  classifies  them  ;  and  if  naturalists  were 
once  led  to  believe  the  union  of  two  sexes  to  be  a  necessary  or 
invariable  antecedent  of  the  vivification,  the  discovered  fact 
of  parthenogenesis  has  convinced  them  of  their  mistake.  The 
first  appearance,  then,  of  this  living  cell,  is  an  indubitable 
case  of  an  organized  individual  at  once  "  flashed  into  being," 
not  indeed  "out  of  nothingness,"  but  "  out  of  a  mass  of  inor- 
ganic elements  drawn  together  in  due  proportion  for  that  pur- 
pose ";  and  special  or  miraculous  creation,  which  appears  so 
incredible  or  inconceivable  to  the  advocates  of  the  Develop- 
ment Theory,  is  in  fact  constantly  going  on  all  around  us. 
Whether  we  call  it  creation  or  ordinary  generation,  the  proc- 
ess—  the  mode  in  which  inorganic  particles  are  suddenly 
bound  together  into  an  organic  living  whole  —  is  wholly  in- 
explicable. Science  throws  down  her  microscope  before  the 
process  in  despair.  But  inexplicable  as  it  is,  we  are  not  able 
to  deny  that  it  is  a  law  of  nature  which  is  perpetually  verified 
before  us.  We  cannot  tell  how  a  blade  of  grass  grows  ;  but 
we  do  not  therefore  affirm  that  it  does  not  grow. 

No  one  who  understands  the  case  will  assert,  that  either  the 
scale  on  which  the  phenomenon  takes  place,  or  the  frequency 
of  its  repetition,  or  the  length  of  time  within  which  it  is  com- 


THE  LATEST  FORM  OF  THE  DEVELOPMENT  THEORY.    281 

pleted,  is  a  radically  distinguishing  circumstance  which  pre- 
vents us  from  identifying  ordinary  reproduction  with  direct 
creation.  Frequent  repetition,  indeed,  wears  out  wonder;  but 
it  does  not  make  the  process  one  whit  more  explicable  than 
if  it  occurred  only  once  in  a  millennium.  One  microscopic 
germ  may  be  slowly  developed  into  a  giant  pine,  which  may 
reckon  its  years  by  centuries :  and  another  may  give  birth  to 
an  insect  that  completes  its  whole  cycle  of  being  in  a  single 
season.  But  science  knows  as  little  of  the  process  in  the  one 
case  as  in  the  other,  and  justly  classes  them  both  under  the 
same  name  of  generative  development.  "  If  an  animal  or  a 
vegetable,"  says  Dugald  Stewart,  "  were  brought  into  being 
before  our  eyes  in  an  instant  of  time,  the  event  would  not  be  in 
itself  more  wonderful  than  their  slow  growth  to  maturity  from 
an  embryo  or  from  a  seed.  But  on  the  former  supposition, 
there  is  no  man  who  would  not  perceive  and  acknowledge  the 
immediate  agency  of  an  intelligent  cause  ;  whereas,  according 
to  the  actual  order  of  things,  the  effect  steals  so  insensibly  on 
the  observation,  that  it  excites  little  or  no  curiosity,  excepting 
in  those  who  possess  a  sufficient  degree  of  reflection  to  contrast 
the  present  state  of  the  objects  around  them  with  their  first 
origin,  and  with  the  progressive  stages  of  their  existence." 


DISEASES    AND    MALFORMATIONS    NOT 
HEREDITABLE. 

FROM    THE    PROCEEDINGS    OF      THE    AMERICAN      ACADEMY    FOR    JANUARY,    1861. 

THERE  has  been  an  increasing  tendency  of  late  years,  par- 
ticularly among  speculative  philanthropists  and  naturalists,  to 
lay  great  stress  upon  the  supposed  hereditability  of  peculiar 
and  abnormal  traits  of  bodily  and  mental  organization,  espe- 
cially of  mental  disease,  and  to  insist  more  and  more  upon  the 
certainty  of  their  transmission  by  descent.  It  has  even  been 
proposed  to  prohibit  by  law  the  intermarriage  of  persons  who 
have  mental  or  bodily  defects  or  diseases  which  might  be 
transmitted  to  their  offspring.  And  as  to  insanity,  there  is 
too  much  reason  to  fear  that  persons  have  been  actually  driven 
mad  through  the  fear,  which  has  been  carefully  inculcated  upon 
them,  of  having  inherited  insanity.  It  will  be  admitted,  that, 
if  there  is  anything  which  can  foster  and  rapidly  develop  some 
latent  tendency  towards  mental  disease,  it  is  dreading,  and 
brooding  over  the  dread,  of  that  great  calamity,  regarded  as  an 
inevitable  event,  which  must  sooner  or  later  happen.  In  the 
opinion  of  many,  crime  and  sin  are  no  longer  imputable  to  in- 
dividual men  and  women,  but  to  what  the  lawyers  call  "  the 
act  of  God,"  which  entailed  upon  the  offenders  inevitably  a 
wicked  temper,  a  perverted  will,  or  a  diseased  brain.  The 
only  proper  name  to  be  given  to  this  doctrine  is  physiological 
fatalism.  It  rests  upon  a  perversion  of  one  of  the  darkest 
saying  of  the  old  Jewish  Scripture,  that  the  sins  of  the  fathers 
shall  be  visited  upon  the  children,  even  to  the  third  and  fourth 
generation  ;  —  a  seemingly  harsh  doctrine,  though,  in  the 
meaning  which  was  probably  intended,  it  is  certainly  true  ; 
and  it  is  one  which,  at  any  rate,  is  not  so  terrific  as  that  per- 
version of  it,  which  teaches,  that  not  merely  the  sins,  but  the 


DISEASES   AND   MALFORMATIONS   NOT    HEREDITABLE.          233 

congenital  defects  and  diseases,  implanted  in  us  before  birth, 
shall  be  visited  upon  our  innocent  offspring,  not  for  two  or 
three  generations  only,  but  for  all  future  time. 

It  appears  to  me  that  the  assumed  evidence  upon  which  this 
theory  rests  is  unscientific  and  unsatisfactory,  and  can  be  con- 
fronted by  a  great  amount  of  testimony  leading  to  an  oppo- 
site conclusion.  We  may  begin  by  admitting,  or  taking  for 
granted,  every  fact  which  is  commonly  adduced  in  its  support, 
—  excluding,  of  course,  such  a  statement  of  that  fact  as  may 
involve  any  theory  respecting  its  nature.  Thus,  it  is  a  fact 
that  insane  persons  can  generally  find  among  their  ancestors, 
or  their  relatives  in  the  ancestral  line,  one  or  more  persons 
who  also  have  been  insane.  The  illogical,  because  hypothetical, 
statement  of  this  fact  is,  that  the  former  inherited  their  insanity 
from  the  latter.  It  is  also  a  fact,  that  children  often  bear  a 
certain  measure  of  resemblance,  in  body,  mind,  or  character, 
to  their  parents  or  grandparents  ;  and  the  hypothetical  state- 
ment of  this  fact  is,  that  they  have  inherited  these  traits. 

Now,  one  of  three  suppositions  must  be  true  ;  —  either,  1. 
there  is  a  law  of  nature  that  bodily  and  mental  peculiarities 
shall  always  be  transmitted  by  inheritance ;  or,  2.  there  is  a 
law  that  they  shall  not  be  so  transmitted  ;  or,  3.  there  is  no 
law  about  the  matter,  and  it  is  mere  accident  whether  parental 
or  ancestral  peculiarities  reappear  in  the  offspring  or  not. 
The  physiological  fatalists  maintain  the  first  of  these  supposi- 
tions ;  my  own  belief  is  in  favor  of  the  second  ;  but  as  against 
the  fatalists,  it  is  enough  to  substantiate  by  satisfactory  evi- 
dence the  third. 

The  mistake  of  those  who  favor  the  doctrine  of  hereditary 
descent  arises  from  the  common  error,  — an  Idol  of  the  Tribe, 
as  Bacon  calls  it,  —  which  consists  in  regarding  only  the 
affirmative  cases ;  "  and  though  there  be  a  greater  number  and 
weight  of  instances  to  be  found  on  the  other  side,  yet  these  it 
either  neglects  and  despises,  or  by  some  distinction  sets  aside 
and  rejects."  "  Such  is  the  way  of  all  superstition,"  Bacon 
continues  ;  "  but  with  far  greater  subtility  does  this  mischief 
insinuate  itself  into  philosophy  and  the  sciences.  It  is  the 
peculiar  and  perpetual  error  of  the  human  intellect,  to  be  more 
moved  and  excited  by  affirmatives  than  by  negatives  ;  whereas, 


234          DISEASES   AND   MALFORMATIONS   NOT   HEREDITABLE. 

it  ought  properly  to  hold  itself  indifferently  disposed  towards 
both  alike.  Indeed,  in  the  establishment  of  any  true  law  of 
nature,  the  negative  instance  is  the  more  forcible  of  the  two." 
Dr.  Johnson  pithily  described  this  popular  fallacy,  when  he 
said,  that  the  one  dream  which  comes  to  pass  is  remembered 
and  quoted,  while  the  ninety  and  nine  which  do  not  come  to 
pass  are  forgotten.  Just  so,  one  case  of  an  insane  child  or 
grandchild,  nephew  or  niece,  of  an  insane  person,  is  quoted  as 
proof  of  the  doctrine  of  hereditary  transmission ;  while  the 
twenty  other  offspring  of  the  same  person,  who  never  showed 
a  trace  of  insanity,  are  forgotten.  It  is  difficult  to  adduce  evi- 
dence on  this  point ;  for  while  it  is  comparatively  easy  to  trace 
back  the  pedigree  of  a  madman,  and  find  insanity  somewhere 
in  his  family,  either  in  the  direct  or  collateral  line,  since  statis- 
tics prove  that  at  least  one  out  of  a  thousand  in  the  whole 
community  suffer  more  or  less  from  this  disease,  —  it  is  not  so 
easy  to  trace  the  line  forward,  to  lay  bare  the  history  of  a 
whole  family,  and  to  prove  that  no  one  of  them,  at  any  time 
or  in  any  degree,  has  suffered  from  insanity.  Only  in  the  case 
of  a  prominent  historical  family,  where  all  the  facts  are  on  rec- 
ord, or  are  generally  known,  is  such  evidence  attainable. 

Fortunately,  there  is  one  case  of  this  sort  that  bears  directly 
on  the  question.  George  III.  may  be  said  to  have  been  con- 
stitutionally insane,  the  malady  breaking  out  several  times  in 
the  course  of  his  life  with  great  violence.  In  1788,  in  1801, 
and  again  in  1804,  the  disease  appeared,  each  attack  incapaci- 
ting  him  for  the  exercise  of  his  royal  functions  for  several 
months.  In  1810,  there  was  a  fourth  and  final  attack,  the  dis- 
ease then  darkening  into  hopeless  imbecility,  and  continuing 
for  ten  years,  the  remainder  of  his  life.  It  is  now  stated,  also, 
though  the  fact  was  not  divulged  in  his  lifetime,  that  he  had  an 
earlier  attack,  in  1764,  when  for  some  weeks  he  was  under  re- 
straint. But  if  we  trace  back  his  lineage  for  six  generations, 
as  far  as  James  I.  of  England,  not  one  of  his  ancestors  can  be 

O 

found  to  have  ever  suffered  from  this  complaint.  Besides,  he 
had  seven  brothers  or  sisters,  and  seven  uncles  or  aunts  ;  and 
as  several  of  these  married  and  had  families,  he  had  a  goodly 
number  of  cousins  and  of  nephews  or  nieces.  Yet  it  does  not 
appear  that  one  of  these  ever  showed  a  trace  of  insanity.  Evi- 


DISEASES   AND   MALFORMATIONS   NOT   HEREDITABLE.          235 

dently,  then,  George  III.  did  not  inherit  the  disease.  Did  he 
transmit  it  ?  Here  the  evidence  is  equally  abundant  and  satis- 
factory. This  insane  king  had  fifteen  children ;  and  as  many 
of  these  had  families,  either  legitimate  or  illegitimate  by  Eng- 
lish law,  there  was  a  crowd  of  grandchildren.  The  Duke  of 
Clarence  alone  had,  by  Mrs.  Jordan,  ten  children.  A  very 
hurried  search  will  enable  one  to  enumerate  fifteen  children, 
twenty-two  grandchildren,  and,  including  the  children  of  the 
present  Queen,  eighteen  great-grandchildren,  —  say,  in  all, 
fift}'-five  descendants.  [At  present,  1880,  the  number  is  in- 
creased at  least  to  seventy-five  or  eighty.]  Yet  in  this  large 
number  there  does  not  seem  to  have  been  one  undoubted  case 
of  insanity  ;  and  as  kings  and  princes  live  in  glass  houses,  if 
there  had  been  one  such  case,  we  should  probably  have  heard 
of  it.  Not  one  undoubted  case,  we  say  ;  for  there  is  a  doubt- 
ful one.  The  oldest  of  the  Fitz  Clarences,  created  Earl  of 
Minister,  committed  suicide  in  1842 ;  and  as  he  had  shown 
great  despondency  for  six  weeks  before  his  death,  so  that  a 
physician  was  at  last  called  in,  a  coroner's  jury,  if  one  had 
sat  in  his  case,  might  have  brought  in  a  verdict  of  insanity; 
and  the  physiological  fatalists,  remembering  his  grandfather, 
would  probably  have  called  it  a  case  of  hereditary  insanity, 
overlooking  the  fifty-four  or  seventy-four  other  descendants  of 
George  III.,  who  have  appeared  as  sane  as  other  people. 

One  such  example  as  this  of  Geoi-ge  III.  appears  conclusive 
against  the  doctrine  of  the  necessary  hereditary  transmission  of 
mental  disease.  We  thus  exorcise  the  terrific  phantom  which, 
as  already  said,  has  probably  driven  many  persons  mad.  There 
is  more  than  one  prophecy,  the  mere  announcement  of  which 
has  caused  its  own  fulfilment.  But  the  case  is  not  a  solitary 
one.  Observation  among  the  families  of  my  own  acquaintance, 
ahuays  made  on  the  principle  of  collecting  the  negative  as  icell 
as  the  affirmative  instances,  have  satisfied  me,  that  the  rule  — 
that  is,  the  law  of  nature  —  is  against  the  hereditary  transmis- 
sion. If  there  are  apparent  exceptions,  the  majority  of  tlie 
descendants  manifesting  the  same  disease  as  the  parent  or  an- 
cestor, they  are  explicable  through  the  action  of  sympathy,  un- 
conscious imitation,  or  exaggerated  fears  proceeding  from  the 
cause  just  mentioned.  Cases  enough  can  be  cited  of  the  recur- 


236         DISEASES  AND   MALFORMATIONS  NOT   HEREDITABLE. 

rence  of  the  phenomenon  from  such  causes,  wherein  the  per- 
sons concerned  were  not  related  by  blood,  so  that  inherited  dis- 
ease was  out  of  the  question. 

Thus,  up  to  1839,  there  had  not  been,  for  sixty  years,  a  case 
of  suicide  by  precipitation  from  the  top  of  the  London  Mon- 
ument. In  that  year,  a  young  woman  named  Moyes  threw 
hei'self  off  from  it  and  was  killed.  Within  three  months,  a 
boy  only  sixteen  years  old,  whose  previous  conduct  had  shown 
nothing  unusual,  jumped  off  with  the  same  result.  To  prevent 
another  case,  the  keeper  was  required  to  accompany  every  per- 
son who  ascended  the  stairs.  But  before  the  year  was  ended, 
another  young  woman,  never  before  thought  to  be  insane  or 
to  have  any  cause  to  wish  for  death,  contrived  to  elude  him 
by  going  to  the  other  side  of  the  balcony,  where  she  also  jumped 
off  and  was  killed.  Then,  at  last,  the  iron  railing  of  the  bal- 
cony was  carried  up  and  united  to  the  stone-work  above,  mak- 
ing a  sort  of  cage  which  had  no  exit  except  by  the  stairs.  If 
these  three  suicides  had  been  brothers  and  sisters,  their  case 
would  have  been  put  down  as  a  strong  instance  of  family  in- 
sanity. Then  may  not  the  repetition  of  suicide,  or  other  insane 
acts,  by  members  of  the  same  family  be  the  result  of  this  sym- 
pathetic propensity,  or  blind  imitativeness,  roused  into  keener 
action  by  the  example  being  set  near  home,  rather  than  the  re- 
sult of  inherited  mental  disease  ?  If  so,  how  forcible  is  the  les- 
son that  we  ought  in  every  way  to  discourage  and  disprove  this 
doctrine  of  the  hereditability  of  insanity  !  Other  cases  are  not 
wanting.  One  was  reported  to  the  Paris  Academy  of  Med- 
icine, that,  a  soldier  at  the  Hotel  des  Invalides  having  hanged 
himself  on  a  post,  his  example  was  soon  followed  by  twelve 
other  invalids,  and  only  by  removing  the  fatal  post  was  the 
suicidal  epidemic  at  last  arrested. 

Thus  far  I  have  treated  only  of  insanity.  But  the  question 
is  a  broader  one.  Do  any  peculiarities  of  mental  or  bodily  or- 
ganization, appearing  for  the  first  time  in  one  generation,  tend 
to  perpetuate  themselves  by  the  law  of  hereditary  descent  ? 
Besides  the  specific  traits,  which  every  animal  has  in  common 
witli  the  species  to  which  it  belongs,  it  has  also  individual  traits 
or  peculiarities,  always  prominent  enough  to  enable  us  easily  to 
distinguish  every  individual  from  its  fellows  of  the  same  kind, 


DISEASES   AND   MALFORMATIONS   NOT    HEREDITAHLE.          287 

even  if  they  are  the  offspring  of  the  same  parents,  and  some- 
times so  strongly  marked  as  to  deserve  the  name  of  monstrosity 
or  disease.  Does  nature  tend  to  perpetuate  or  efface  this  dis- 
tinction between  specific  and  individual  traits  ?  The  question 
is  one  of  great  importance  and  the  highest  generality,  affect- 
ing the  basis  of  zoological  science.  If  this  distinction  is  feebly 
marked  and  transitory,  then  there  is  no  fixed  system  or  plan 
in  the  animal  kingdom,  and  nothing  for  science  to  do  except 
to  chronicle  a  succession  of  fleeting  peculiarities  and  shifting 
boundaries.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  the  distinction  is  broad  and 
stable,  if  what  Blumenbach  calls  the  nisus  formatlvus  neces- 
sarily tends  to  perpetuate  the  species  by  restricting  the  law  of 
hereditary  transmission  to  the  specific  traits,  and  excluding  it 
from  the  individual  peculiarities,  then  the  dominion  of  law,  the 
unchangeable  purposes  of  the  Creator,  extend  alike  over  the 
inorganic  and  the  organic  kingdoms,  and  nature  becomes  one 
consistent,  permanent,  and  intelligible  whole.  Undoubtedly 
apparent  exceptions  occur,  through  a  complexity  of  circum- 
stances which  science  cannot  always  unravel.  Sometimes  a 
specific  trait  is  wanting,  and  the  result  is  a  monstrosity,  a  lusus 
natures ;  but  nature  takes  care  to  kill  out  such  monsters,  usually 
in  the  first  generation.  Sometimes  an  individual  peculiarity 
of  the  parent,  not  so  strongly  marked  as  to  deserve  the  name 
of  a  monstrosity,  reappears  in  the  offspring.  But  such  cases 
are  infrequent,  exceptional,  and,  at  the  utmost,  not  continued 
beyond  two  or  three  generations.  They  are  casual  repetitions, 
such  as  are  always  possible  in  the  perpetual  shifting  and  shuf- 
fling of  individual  traits  ;  they  are  not  the  results  of  hereditary 
transmission.  Otherwise,  —  if  a  law  of  nature  favored  the 
transmission, — all  individual  peculiarities  would  successively 
disappear,  being  merged  in  specific  traits,  and  each  new  birth 
would  present  successively  a  more  perfect  copy  of  its  parent, 
until  at  last,  all  differences  being  effaced,  individuals  of  the 
same  species  could  no  more  be  distinguished  from  each  other, 
than  a  heap  of  silver  coins  freshly  struck  from  the  same  die  at 
the  mint.  But  God's  creative  processes  are  not  thus  mechan- 
ical ;  infinite  variety,  110  less  than  perfect  order,  is  a  law  of 
nature. 

The  first  argument,  then,  against  the  doctrine  of  hereditary 


238          DISEASES   AND   MALFORMATIONS   NOT    HEREDITABLE. 

resemblance,  is  founded  on  this  admitted  fact  of  the  marvellous 
variety  in  nature.  Among  millions  of  human  faces,  no  t\vo 
can  be  found  so  nearly  alike  as  to  be  mistaken  one  for  another. 
The  dividing  line  is  strongly  marked  and  permanent  between 
the  personal  or  individual  traits  that  are  thus  infinitely  varied, 
and  the  specific  traits  which  are  reproduced  with  great,  but 
not  absolute,  uniformity.  The  most  striking  proof  that  there 
is  a  law  of  nature  prohibiting  the  repetition  of  abnormal  forms 
is  found  in  the  fact,  that,  as  the  most  fertile  source  of  such 
forms  is  from  the  crossing  of  distinct  races,  nature  invariably 
makes  the  product  of  such  crosses  more  or  less  sterile  or  short- 
lived. 

How  came  it,  then,  ever  to  be  supposed,  that  nature  favors 
the  hereditary  transmission  of  personal  traits  of  mind,  character, 
and  external  form?  From  the  popular  fallacy,  already  exposed, 
which  leads  the  observer  to  fasten  upon  the  few  affirmative,  to 
the  exclusion  of  a  crowd  of  negative,  instances.  The  different 
features  of  mind  and  body  are  very  numerous,  and  every  one 
of  them  may  show  likeness  or  unlikeness  with  the  correspond- 
ing feature  in  the  parent.  Analyze  any  case  of  supposed 
strong  resemblance,  and  it  will  be  found  to  consist  in  one  or 
two  features  only,  to  the  exclusion  of  six  or  eight  others, 
which  are  wholly  unlike  those  of  the  parent.  Thus,  a  strongly 
marked  nose,  together  with  eyes  of  a  peculiar  shape  and  hue, 
are  enough  to  make  out  what  is  called  a  marked  case  of 
family  likeness  ;  though  mouth,  chin,  forehead,  complexion, 
hair,  outline  of  the  face,  and  shape  of  the  head  may  be  as  un- 
like as  if  they  belonged  to  a  stranger  by  blood  ;  and  though 
even  eyes  and  nose  of  the  same  pattern  may  be  found,  almost 
as  often  as  we  choose  to  look  for  them,  among  the  community 
at  large.  Again,  as  likeness  to  a  grandparent  is  held  to  prove 
hereditary  transmission  just  as  much  as  likeness  to  the  im- 
mediate parent,  and  as  everybody  has  at  least  two  parents  and 
four  grandparents,  there  is  no  cause  for  wonder,  if,  among 
these  .six  progenitors  within  two  generations,  a  counterpart 
should  be  found  for  every  feature  of  the  offspring,  though  acci- 
dent, and  not  inheritance,  formed  the  law  of  distribution. 
For,  excluding  malformation,  there  are  not  more  than  half  a 
do/en  varieties  of  each  feature  which  are  strongly  marked 


DISEASES   AND    MALFORMATIONS   NOT   HEREDITABLE.          239 

enough  to  constitute  a  ground  of  likeness.  Thus,  a  nose 
peculiar  enough  to  be  a  recognized  point  of  likeness,  and  yet 
not  deformed,  must  be  decidedly  either  aquiline,  Roman,  Gre- 
cian, flat,  pug,  or  a  nez  retrousse.  Here  are  but  six  possible 
forms,  and,  according  to  the  law  of  chances,  we  might  ex- 
pect to  find  a  counterpart  for  any  one  of  them  among  the  six 
progenitors.  It  is  because  resemblance  between  parent  and 
offspring  is  found  much  less  frequently  than,  according  to  these 
considerations,  we  should  have  a  right  to  expect  it,  even  if  the 
forms  were  distributed  at  random,  or  without  any  law  at  all, 
that  we  are  led  to  believe  the  law  of  nature,  if  there  be  one  in 
the  case,  favors  unlikeness  rather  than  resemblance  ;  or  that 
Nature  takes  care  to  vary  her  work,  as  she  certainly  does  with 
the  leaves  of  the  same  oak-tree,  amon^  which  you  may  hunt 

O  •/  \J 

for  hours  without  finding  two  whose  indented  outlines  are  at 
all  similar. 

But  supposed  family  likeness  more  frequently  consists  in  the 
general  expression  of  the  countenance,  in  which  respect  a  large 
family  often  bear  a  marked  resemblance  to  each  other,  while 
their  features,  taken  separately,  are  wholly  unlike.  This 
similarity  of  expression,  however,  is  nut  congenital,  but  is 
gradually  superinduced  upon  Nature's  work,  through  living  to- 
gether a  long  while  in  sympathy  and  confidence,  under  similar 
influences  and  education,  whereby,  as  is  often  remarked,  hus- 
band and  wife,  after  a  long  life  of  matrimony,  come  to  re- 
semble each  other.  And  if  this  is  the  case  even  with  adults, 
who  come  together  only  after  age  has  given  rigidity  to  the 
face  and  stereotyped  its  expression,  how  much  more  readily 
will  the  plastic  features  of  infancy  and  childhood  yield  to 
similar  influences  and  adopt  the  family  pattern.  Hence  it  is, 
that  this  likeness  of  expression  generally  cannot  be  seen  in 
early  infancy,  and  appears  very  faintly  at  first,  but  deepens 
and  strengthens  as  the  child  advances  in  years.  Through  the 

o  */  o 

same  cause,  also,  the  handwriting  of  the  different  members  of 
the  same  family  is  often  strikingly  similar,  though  they  may 
have  learned  how  to  write  from  different  teachers  ;  and  proba- 
bly no  one  will  maintain  handwriting  to  be  hereditary. 

All  that  has  been  said  of  the  external  features  is  applicable, 
also,  mutatis  mutandis,  to  traits  of  mind  and  character.  The 


240          DISEASES   AND   MALFORMATIONS   NOT   HEREDITABLE. 

hereditary  transmission  of  the  latter  is  even  less  probable  than 
of  the  former,  on  account  of  the  acknowledged  almost  im- 
measurable diversity  of  mental  traits,  and  because  the  few 
points  of  similarity  can  be  more  probably  referred  to  the  in- 
fluence of  education,  imitation,  involuntary  sympathy,  and 
other  like  bonds  which  draw  together  and  assimilate  parent 
and  child,  however  originally  unlike.  But  in  spite  of  these 
causes,  all  tending  to  create  ultimate  resemblance,  we  still  find 
genius  and  stupidity,  temper,  affection,  and  taste  so  very  un- 
equally and  capriciously  distributed  among  members  of  the 
same  family,  that  the  diversities  can  be  attributed  only  to 
nature's  own  ordinance  established  for  this  very  purpose. 
Analyze  any  case  presented  as  evidence  of  the  opposite  theory, 
and  we  see  more  plainly  than  ever  the  error  of  laying  stress 
upon  the  affirmative  points,  while  the  negative  instances  are 
overlooked  or  forgotten. 

Mr.  George  Combe  cites  an  author  who  attributes  the  fa- 
tality which  attended  the  House  of  Stuart  "  to  a  certain  ob- 
stinacy of  temper,  which  appears  to  have  been  hereditary  and 
inherent  in  all  the  Stuarts  except  Charles  II."  But  this  per- 
verse wilfulness  seems  more  probably  attributable  to  the  educa- 
tion received,  every  Stuart  being  trained  by  a  Stuart,  and  by 
an  Anglican  clergy  then  fanatically  attached  to  the  dogmas  of 
the  divine  right  of  kings,  and  the  subject's  duty  of  passive 
obedience.  Charles  II.  had  his  training  in  the  hard  school  of 
adversity  and  exile,  where  he  became  more  pliant.  But  how 
many  other  points  of  resemblance  can  be  found  in  the  succes- 
sion of  Stuart  kings  ?  Compare  the  first  of  them  who  sat  on 
an  English  throne,  the  slobbering,  pedantic,  cowardly,  fondling 
James  I.,  with  his  grave,  decorous,  and  melancholy  son, 
treacherous  as  a  prince,  but  rigidly  moral  as  a  man,  and  dying 
at  List  the,  death  of  a  martyr  and  a  saint.  Or  compare  this 
martyr-king  with  his  good-for-nothing  though  good-natured 
son,  Charles  II.,  or  the  latter  with  his  brother,  the  stupid  and 
cruel  bigot,  James  II.  Only  in  "  the  good  Queen  Anne,"  as 
she  was  sometimes  called,  weak  and  prejudiced,  but  motherly 
and  fondling,  and  much  under  the  influence  of  favorites,  do 
we  find  a  reproduction  of  some  characteristic  traits  of  her 
great-grandfather,  James  I.  Take  any  other  line  of  European 


DISEASES   AND   MALFORMATIONS   NOT   HEREDITABLE.          241 

kings,  and  as  great  diversities  of  character  and  ability  may  be 
found  among  them  as  among  the  Stuarts.  On  the  whole,  the 
doctrine  of  the  hereditary  transmission  of  mind  and  character 
may  be  said  to  be  contradicted  by  all  history,  as  well  as  by 
every  day's  experience. 

16 


THE  PSYCHICAL  EFFECTS  OF  ETHERIZATION. 

FROM    THE    SPECTATOR,    LONDON,    DECEMBER  27,  1873. 

ON  October  5,  1872,  having  to  undergo  a  surgical  operation, 
I  was  narcotized  with  sulphuric  ether.  The  chief  purpose  in 
subjecting  myself  to  this  treatment  was,  of  course,  to  escape 
pain  ;  but  I  also  wished  to  observe  as  accurately  as  possible  the 
psychological  results  of  the  experiment,  and  especially  to  en- 
deavor to  remember  which  of  the  mental  faculties  was  sus- 
pended, in  what  order  the  successive  interruptions  of  their  nor- 
mal action  took  place,  and  what  was  my  state  of  consciousness 
while  some,  but  not  all,  of  the  mental  powers  were  thus  para- 
lyzed. Of  course,  I  did  not  expect  to  observe  and  remember  all 
that  passed  in  my  mind  during  the  trance,  as  the  narcotic  ac- 
tion would  certainly  impair  memory,  and  during  a  portion  of 
the  time  might  destroy  it  altogether,  though  this  did  not  seem 
probable.  But  by  fixing  firmly  in  the  mind,  the  moment  the 
operation  began,  this  purpose  to  observe,  and  by  recalling  it 
as  soon  ?.  ;  possible  after  the  partial  or  entire  restoration  of  con- 
sciousness, there  was  a  good  chance  that  some  interesting  re- 
sults might  be  noticed  and  chronicled.  I  informed  the  oper- 
ator beforehand  of  my  intention,  and  requested  him  to  take 
good  care  that  enough  ether  should  be  administered  to  produce 
complete  anaesthesia.  Also,  as  it  is  usual  to  apply  the  ether 
slowly  at  first,  bringing  the  sponge  gradually  close  to  the  nos- 
trils, there  was  no  doubt  that  at  least  the  initiatory  stages  of 
the  experiment  could  be  remembered. 

Soon  after  the  inhalation  commenced,  my  sight  became  im- 
paired. Clouds  of  white  vapor  seemed  to  roll  before  my  eyes, 
and  rapidly  to  come  nearer  and  thicken,  till  I  could  no  longer 
see  any  object  or  color  whatsoever.  But  neither  then,  nor  aft- 
erwards, was  there  anv  sensation  of  blackness  or  darkness ;  it 


THE  PSYCHICAL  EFFECTS  OF  ETHERIZATION.       243 

seemed  all  the  while  as  if  I  was  in  the  centre  of  a  very  luminous 
white  cloud,  no  outlines  being  apparent  in  it,  and  no  estimate 
being  formed  whether  it  was  near  or  remote,  although  there 
was  an  indistinct  impression  of  wreaths  or  folds  of  it  rolling 
over  each  other,  or  of  the  whole  mass  slowly  gyrating  round  a 
centre.  Next,  there  seemed  to  be  a  light,  whirring  sound  in 
my  ears,  which,  when  it  became  continuous,  made  me  suppose 
that  I  was  already  deaf ;  but  in  this  it  soon  appeared  that  I 
was  mistaken,  as  the  sense  of  hearing  was  not  entirely  lost  till 
two  or  three  moments  afterwards.  At  about  the  same  time,  I 
ceased  either  to  taste  or  smell  the  ether,  and  the  process  of  in- 
haling it,  which  at  first  produced  a  choking  sensation,  became 
easy  and  natural.  Wishing  to  preserve  consciousness  after 
sensation  had  ceased,  and  finding  it  difficult  or  impossible  to 
speak,  I  swung  my  arm  round  so  as  to  touch  the  operator,  as  a 
hint  to  him  to  take  away  the  sponge.  He  did  not  heed  me, 
and  I  repeated  the  signal.  Then  he  spoke  in  reply,  but 
though  close  to  me,  I  could  not  distinguish  a  word  that  he  said, 
his  voice  sounding  hollow  and  inarticulate,  as  if  coming  from  a 
great  distance.  This  proved,  however,  that  the  senses  of  touch 
and  hearing  were  not  yet  entirely  benumbed,  for  I  had  a  faint 
sensation  not  only  from  his  voice,  but  also  from  my  hand  strik- 
ing his  knee.  A  moment  later,  however,  I  ceased  to  have  any 
feeling  whatever ;  for  then,  as  I  afterwards  learned,  began  a 
series  of  cuts,  pulls,  and  wrenches,  lasting  about  three  minutes, 
which,  if  my  nerves  had  been  in  their  ordinary  state,  would 
have  occasioned  exquisite  pain.  But  I  was  entirely  unconscious 
of  them,  and  did  not  even  know  that  the  hand  or  the  instru- 
ments of  the  operator  touched  me.  I  forgot  even  where  I  was, 
what  occasion  had  brought  me  there,  and  what  had  been  done 
to  me.  In  short,  memory  had  entirely  gone  ;  but  all  the  while  I 
was  perfectly  conscious,  not  only  of  my  own  existence,  but  that 
I  was  in  some  abnormal  state,  into  which  I  had  been  brought 
by  my  own  act,  or  at  any  rate  with  my  own  free  consent.  It 
seemed  that  something  fearful  had  happened,  —  that  I  had 
passed  into  another  state  of  existence,  and  its  doors  had  irrev- 
ocably closed  behind  me.  Not  terror,  but  a  deep  feeling  of  awe 
and  regret  came  upon  me.  — regret  that  I  had  allowed  myself  to 
cross  some  boundary  line  into  another  world,  from  which  there 


244  THE  PSYCHICAL  EFFECTS   OF  ETHERIZATION. 

was  no  return.  My  mind,  far  from  being  inactive,  seemed  to 
be  in  a  state  of  the  utmost  tension  of  its  powers  of  thought  and 
feeling.  I  was  conscious  even  of  the  lapse  of  time,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  years  passed  while  I  was  thus  reflecting  upon 
the  consequences  of  my  own  act  in  passing  out  of  some  former 
life,  of  Avhich,  however,  I  had  no  distinct  remembrance.  The 
thought  of  making  any  physical  exertion  to  break  the  spell 
never  occurred  to  me ;  for,  indeed,  I  had  forgotten  that  I  had  a 
body.  Neither  did  I  make  any  mental  effort  either  to  change 
the  course  of  thought  to  some  other  topic,  or  to  repress  the  vivid 
emotions  which  affected  me  so  strongly.  Indeed,  volition  as  well 
as  memory  seemed  to  have  departed.  I  was  conscious  only  of 
self,  —  that  is,  of  my  own  being,  —  of  quick,  but  passive  or  in- 
voluntary thought,  and  of  deep  feeling.  This  extreme  tension 
of  the  mental  faculties  tends  to  explain  what  would  otherwise 
be  unaccountable,  —  why  I  should  afterwards  remember  per- 
fectly what  were  my  thoughts  and  feelings  while  in  the  trance, 
though,  during  the  dream  itself,  I  had  no  recollection  of  the  cir- 
cumstances which  preceded  it  and  caused  its  occurrence.  The 
process  of  waking  again  into  full  life  was  not  gradual,  but  in- 
stantaneous. At  once  the  scales  seemed  to  fall  from  my  eyes 
and  memory,  and  I  heard  the  operator  giving  me  some  direc- 
tions concerning  the  flow  of  blood.  I  immediately  remarked 
to  him,  "  Doctor,  I  have  passed  years  in  this  unnatural  state." 
He  laughed  as  he  showed  me  his  watch,  which  proved  that  I 
had  been  under  the  influence  of  ether  about  five  minutes. 

The  following  is  a  summary  of  the  conclusions  which  I  think 
may  be  drawn  from  this  experiment :  — 

1.  When  the  anaesthetic  trance  is  coming  on,  the  sense  of 
sight  is  the  first  to  leave  us  ;  next,  the  senses  of  taste  and  smell 
depart ;  and  lastly,  those  of  hearing  and  touch. 

2.  Along  with    the    paralysis  of   the    last    of   these  special 
senses,  we  lose    also  what  may  be   called  the   general  or  or- 
ganic sense,  diffused  through  the  whole  body,  through  which 
we  are  made  conscious   of  heat  and  cold,  of  affections  of  the 
oesophagus  and  alimentary  canal,  of  muscular  fatigue,  of  the 
pressure  of  our  own  weight  on  the  feet  or  the  sitting  part  of 
the  body,  and  of  the  lesion  of  any  portion  of  the  animal  frame. 

o.  As  soon  as  the  senses  are  entirely  benumbed,  there  is  a 


THE   PSYCHICAL   EFFECTS   OF   ETHERIZATION.  245 

total  loss  of  memory  ;  and  at  the  same  time,  as  it  seemed  to 
me,  the  power  of  volition  also  departs,  and  we  cease  to  will. 

4.  The  loss  of  all  these  faculties  is  so  far  from  depriving  us 
either  of  self-consciousness,  or  of  the  rapid  succession  of  invol- 
untary thought,  or  of  the  capacity  of  strong  emotion,  that  I 
think  these  are  stimulated  into  unusually  intense  action. 

5.  Ordinary  sleep  differs  from  the  anaesthetic  trance  in  at 
least  one  important  respect.     In  the  former,  sensation  is  not 
suspended,  but  is  only  more  or  less  benumbed.     Many  sleepers 
awake  when  there  is  the  slightest  noise  in  the  room,  or  even 
from  a  light  touch  of  the  hand.     Others  are  roused  with  more 
difficulty,  but    even  these  will  generally  make  a  slight  move- 
ment to  avoid  irritation  or  tickling  of  some  part  of  the  body. 
Many  are  wakened  even  by  the  hum  or  a  bite  of  a  mosquito. 
Sleepers  even  distinguish  the  character  of  different  sounds,  as 
an  unusual  though  comparatively  slight  noise  will    instantly 
awaken  them,  though  their  slumbers  are  undisturbed  by  much 
louder  sounds  which  they  are  accustomed  to  hear  every  night. 
Again,  the  dreams  of  the  sleeper  usually  evince   some  recollec- 
tion of  familiar  persons,  places,  and  objects,  so  that  there  is  no 
total  loss  of  memory.     In  our  dreams,  also,  we  even  will  to 
make  some  effort  to  avoid  an  imagined  danger,  though  such 
volition  does  not  usually  succeed  in  moving  the  limbs. 

6.  Neither  does  anaesthesia  resemble  a  swoon.     Twice  in  the 
course  of  my  life  I  have  fainted  entirely  away,  and  each  time, 
as  I  distinctly  remember,  there  was  a  complete  loss  of  con- 
sciousness.    A  sufficient  dose  of  alcohol  taken  into  the  stomach 
may  produce  the  same  effects  as  inhaling  ether ;  for  I  suppose 
a  person  who  is  what  is  commonly  called  dead-drunk  neither 
feels,  hears,  nor  remembers.     But  I  have  no  evidence  to  offer 
on  this  point,  as  I  do  not  remember  ever  having  tried  the  ex- 
periment. 

7.  The  living,  of  course,  can  never  Jcnoiv  what  immediate  ef- 
fect is  produced  on  the  mind   by  sudden  death.     But  the  pa- 
ralysis of  the  faculties  of  sensation,  memory,  and  volition  dur- 
ing the  anaesthetic  trance  seems  to  be  as  perfect,  for  the  time,  as 
any  which  could  be  produced  by  the  stroke  of  the  axe  when  a 
person  is  guillotined.     Yet  the  experiment  now  detailed  seems 
to  prove  that,  after  these  three  faculties  are  thus  entirely  par- 


246  THE   PSYCHICAL   EFFECTS   OF   ETHERIZATION. 

alyzed,  self-consciousness  and  the  capacity  for  contemplative 
thought  and  strong  emotion  may  riot  only  remain  unimpaired, 
but  may  even  be  roused  to  unusual  activity.  This  capacity, 
moreover,  seems  to  depend  upon  the  brain  alone,  for  it  con- 
tinues unaffected  when,  in  consequence  of  some  injury  to  the 
upper  part  of  the  spine,  the  whole  sensitive  organism  below 
the  neck  is  completely  paralyzed.  Then  it  appears  not  only 
possible,  but  extremely  probable,  that  self-consciousness  may 
remain,  at  least  for  a  considerable  time,  (since  the  anaesthetic 
trance  can  be  indefinitely  prolonged,)  after  the  head  has  been 
severed  from  the  body.  I  do  not  see  why  it  should  not  con- 
tinue even  after  the  brain  has  decayed,  and  been  reduced  to 
its  constituent  chemical  elements;  for  although  during  this 
life  some  molecular  change  in  the  brain,  some  "  burning  of 
phosphorus  "  there,  may  be  the  invariable  concomitant  of  any 
exercise  of  mind,  there  is  not  the  shadow  of  a  reason  for  affirm- 
ing this  concomitant  to  be  the  cause,  rather  than  the  conse- 
quent, of  the  mental  activity.  The  probabilities  are  all  the 
other  way  ;  for  there  are  surely  more  striking  cases  of  the 
action  of  the  mind  on  the  body,  than  of  the  body  on  the  mind. 
Our  volitions  control  our  movements  ;  our  thick-coming  fan- 
cies, even  when  no  visible  or  tangible  objects  are  present  to 
sense,  impede  the  respiration  and  quicken  the  pulse  ;  our  emo- 
tions command  our  blushes  and  our  tears.  In  such  cases,  there 
can  be  no  doubt  which  is  cause,  and  which  is  effect ;  mind  un- 
mistakably asserts  its  supremacy.  There  are  also  instances 
enough  on  record  to  prove  the  possibility  of  the  complete  res- 
toration of  memory,  after  it  has  been,  even  for  a  long  time,  en- 
tirely paralyzed. 

I  may  be  permitted  to  add  that  the  essential  portions  of 
this  account  were  written  out  verv  soon  after  the  experiment 
described  took  place,  and  that  extreme  caution  was  used  in 
drawing  it  up  to  avoid  exaggeration  or  any  form  of  misstate- 
ment. 


BUCKLE'S   HISTORY   OF   CIVILIZATION. 

FROM    THE    NORTH    AMERICAN    REVIEW    FOR    OCTOBER,    1861. 

MR.  BUCKLE  belongs  to  a  peculiar  class  of  English  thinkers, 
—  the  Philosophical  Radicals,  as  they  have  been  called  —  some 
of  whom  have  become  distinguished  in  every  generation  for 
the  last  two  centuries.  Their  great  leader  and  prototype,  who 
may  be  regarded  as  the  founder  of  the  school  and  the  most 
original  genius  that  has  adorned  it,  was  the  philosopher  of 
Malmesbury,  Thomas  Hobbes.  His  successors  have  adopted 
most  of  his  opinions,  because  they  inherited  from  him  the  pe- 
culiar traits  of  character  in  which  those  opinions  had  their 
origin.  Obstinate,  dogmatic,  hard-headed,  and  impassive,  they 
have  manifested  few  qualities  of  heart  or  intellect  which  could 
win  affection  or  sympathy  ;  and  it  is  perhaps  a  stronger  re- 
proach, that  they  have  never  felt  the  want  of  either.  The 
nature  of  their  speculations  has  been  determined  by  peculiari- 
ties of  temperament  and  disposition,  more  than  by  qualities  of 
intellect.  Cold  in  feeling,  and  averse  to  every  manifestation 
of  enthusiasm,  they  have  uniformly  adopted  low  and  degrading 
views  of  human  nature,  and  prided  themselves  on  running 
counter  to  the  opinions  and  shocking  some  of  the  dearest 
sentiments  of  their  fellow-men.  We  lose  the  best  safeguards 
of  sound  judgment,  when  the  errors  of  the  head  are  no  longer 
checked  by  the  warm  impulses  of  the  heart.  In  theorizing 
upon  human  conduct,  some  of  the  most  important  data  are  left 
out  of  the  account  if  men  are  regarded  only  as  thinking  ma- 
chines, as  uniformly  selfish  in  their  aims,  and  as  guided  only  by 
a  blind  destiny  to  the  accomplishment  of  results  which  they  had 
never  contemplated.  The  pride  of  individual  intellect  is  not 
at  all  averse  to  such  humiliating  estimates  of  human  nature  in 
general.  He  \vho  is  fond  of  speculating  upon  the  errors  and 


248  THE   PHILOSOPHICAL   RADICALS   IN   ENGLAND. 

weaknesses  of  his  species  makes  an  unconscious  exception  of 
his  own  case,  and  prides  himself  on  the  perspicacity  which  de- 
tects the  causes  of  self-delusion  in  others.  Mackintosh,  speak- 
ing of  Hobbes,  remarks,  that  "  it  might  seem  incredible,  if 
it  were  not  established  by  the  experience  of  all  ages,  that  those 
who  differ  most  from  the  opinions  of  their  fellow-men  are  most 
confident  of  the  truth  of  their  own.  It  commonly  requires  an 
overweening  conceit  of  the  superiority  of  a  man's  own  judg- 
ment, to  make  him  espouse  very  singular  notions  ;  and  when 
he  has  once  embraced  them,  they  are  endeared  to  him  by  the 
hostility  of  those  whom  he  contemns  as  the  prejudiced  vul- 
gar." 

We  do  not  undervalue  the  abilities  of  the  leaders  of  this 
school,  or  deny  that  they  have  analyzed  successfully  some  of 
the  complex  phenomena  of  mind,  and  made  many  important 
contributions  to  the  philosophy  of  history  and  society.  Hobbes 
himself  is  a  striking  example  of  a  great  intellect  warped,  but 
not  dwarfed,  by  a  perverse  temper.  Even  Mr.  Buckle  has 
much  of  the  genius  for  system  which  extends  a  few  principles 
over  a  vast  field  of  inquiry,  unites  the  contributions  of  many 
sciences,  and  establishes  a  deceptive  appearance  of  unity  and 
method  where  we  had  looked  only  for  Incongruity  and  con- 
fusion. But  his  learning  is  multifarious  and  extensive,  rather 
than  exact  or  profound  ;  he  passes  with  great  leaps  over  the 
difficult  portions  of  his  subject,  and  discards  or  mutilates  the 
facts  which  do  not  suit  his  purpose,  or  will  not  fit  into  his 
theory.  Arrogance  is  fed  by  imperfect  knowledge  ;  and  one 
who  is  a  smatterer  in  many  sciences,  without  a  perfect  knowl- 
edge of  any,  often  settles  magisterially  questions  which  still 
perplex  and  confound  modest  and  competent  inquirers.  Mr. 
Buckle  is  not  a  great  scholar,  like  Mr.  Grote,  nor  has  he  the 
varied  attainments,  and  the  genius  for  bold  but  judicious  spec- 
ulation, which  distinguish  Mr.  Mill.  The  very  title  of  his 
work  indicates  rather  overweening  confidence  in  his  own 
powers,  than  a  clear  understanding  of  the  nature  of  his  sub- 
ject, or  a  definite  purpose  as  to  the  end  to  be  attained.  The 
self-styled  historian  of  civilization  has  not  yet  indicated  what 
it  is  that  constitutes  civilization,  or  wherein  a  history  of  it  dif- 
fers from  any  other  branch  of  historical  disquisition.  With 


BUCKLE'S  HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION.  249 

this  imperfect  conception  of  the  nature  of  his  undertaking,  it 
is  not  surprising  that  he  has  already  filled  two  thick  volumes 
before  reaching  the  threshold  of  his  proper  subject,  and  has 
even  been  driven  to  a  frank  confession  that  his  original  plan 
was  too  extensive,  and  that  its  execution  consequently  is  im- 
possible. 

In  truth,  the  title  of  the  work,  as  far  as  it  has  proceeded,  is 
a  misnomer.  It  is  not  a  history  of  civilization  or  of  anything 
else,  but  the  statement  of  a  system  of  doctrine,  borrowed  in 
great  part  from  the  Positive  Philosophy  of  Comte,  and  sup- 
ported by  a  series  of  illustrations  drawn  at  random  from  the 
history  of  all  nations  and  all  ages,  and  from  the  records  of 
literature  and  science.  Hence  the  work  is  eminently  discur- 
sive and  ill-digested,  and  might  be  prosecuted  through  a  dozen 
more  thick  volumes,  filled  with  the  fruits  of  the  author's  des- 
ultory reading,  but  having  no  more  connection  with  the 
history  of  England  than  with  that  of  China,  and  affording 
not  even  a  glimpse  of  the  writer's  theory  respecting  the  nat- 
ure of  civilization.  In  point  of  mere  style,  the  merits  of  the 
book  are  considerable,  and  even  the  rambling  and  desultory 
nature  of  its  contents  is  a  source  of  attractiveness  and  power. 
The  language  is  clear,  animated,  and  forcible,  sometimes  ris- 
ing very  nearly  to  eloquence,  and  marked  with  the  earnestness 
of  one  who  thoroughly  believes  the  doctrine  which  he  ex- 
pounds. Even  the  cool  dogmatism  of  Mr.  Buckle's  assertions, 
and  his  entire  confidence  in  the  truth  of  his  opinions  and  the 
force  of  his  arguments,  are  often  as  amusing  as  they  are  un- 
reasonable. One  who  has  no  doubts  to  express,  and  no  quali- 
fications or  exceptions  to  state,  has  a  great  advantage  in  point 
of  liveliness  of  manner.  Like  his  great  master,  Hobbes,  he 
betrays  a  good  deal  of  egotism  also,  a  quality  which  adds  much 
to  the  freshness  and  raciness  of  his  style. 

We  have  already  intimated  that  there  is  no  novelty  in  Mr. 
Buckle's  doctrines,  however  new  may  be  his  manner  of  stat- 
ing and  defending  them.  He  is  simply  a  necessitarian  and  a 
sceptic ;  and  he  shows  all  the  earnestness  of  a  fanatic  in 
preaching  the  gospel  of  fatalism  and  unbelief.  In  his  view, 
man  is  a  plant  that  grows  and  thinks,  the  form  and  plane  of 
his  growth,  and  the  products  of  his  thought,  being  as  little 


250  THE   PHILOSOPHICAL    RADICALS'  IN   ENGLAND. 

dependent  on  his  will  or  effort  as  the  bark,  leaves,  and  fruit 
of  a  tree  are  on  its  own  choice.  All  alike  are  subject  to  the 
"skyey  influences."  Food,  soil,  climate,  —  these  make  up 
the  man,  and  determine  what  he  must  be.  They  make  up 
the  whole  man,  —  not  merely  his  animal  frame,  but  his  life 
and  soul,  if  he  has  any.  If  these  are  rich  and  generous,  so  will 
be  the  man,  and  his  thoughts  and  actions.  His  moral  nature 
is  nothing ;  it  has  no  lasting  effect  upon  his  character  or  con- 
duct. And  his  spiritual  nature  is  a  mere  fiction.  The  laws 
of  matter  and  the  laws  of  intellect,  —  these  govern  all,  and 
shape  our  nature  and  destiny.  And  these  laws  are  as  perma- 
nent and  uncontrollable  as  the  laws  of  gravitation  and  chem- 
ical affinity.  If  we  knew  them  perfectly,  we  could  tell  what 
the  past  must  have  been,  and  what  the  future  will  inevitably 
be  ;  we  could  "  look  into  the  seeds  of  time,  and  see  which 
grain  would  grow,  and  which  would  not."  And  we  can  learn 
them  ;  from  the  statistics  of  what  has  been,  we  can  prophesy 
what  will  be.  As  with  individuals,  so  with  communities  and 
nations.  These  are  but  aggregates  of  individuals,  and  their 
history,  also,  is  shaped  by  irreversible  laws  ;  and  the  system 
of  averages,  which  eliminates  small  disturbing  forces  and  ab- 
normal instances,  enables  us  to  predict  the  result  with  greater 
ease  and  certainty  in  the  case  of  these  aggregates  than  in  that 

*/  oo       o 

of  individuals.  The  history  of  human  beings,  the  history  of 
civilization,  is  like  that  of  the  solar  and  starry  systems.  When 
a  Kepler,  a  Newton,  and  a  Laplace  shall  arise  to  reduce  the 
complexity  of  the  observed  and  tabulated  results  to  order,  we 
shall  see  that  all  is  subject  to  law  ;  and  knowing  the  law,  we 
shall  know  all. 

Evidently  this  is  a  sketch  of  a  system  of  philosophy,  and 
not  a  project  of  writing  history.  At  the  very  beginning,  Mr. 
Buckle  lias  a  theory  to  set  forth,  and  a  doctrine  to  establish; 
and  he  ransacks  all  history,  literature,  and  science  for  proofs 
and  illustrations  of  his  preconceived  opinion.  Herein  he  vio- 
lates the  first  principles  of  his  own  method  ;  for  he  is  a  fanat- 
ical adherent  of  the  Baconian  system,  and  attributes  most  of 
the  errors  that  have  been  committed  in  philosophy  and  sci- 
ence to  the  use  of  the  deductive  method,  whereby  reasoners 
assumed  the  maxims  which  they  ought  to  have  proved,  and 


BUCKLE'S  HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION.  251 

proceeded  from  generals  to  particulars,  not  allowing  "  either 
themselves  or  others  to  sift  the  general  propositions  which 
were  to  cover  and  control  the  particular  facts."  Even  Adam 
Smith's  great  work,  the  "  Wealth  of  Nations,"  which  appears 
to  most  observers  a  very  noble  edifice,  built  up  on  the  induc- 
tive system  from  a  vast  collection  of  facts,  seems  faulty  to  Mr. 
Buckle,  as  consisting  too  much  of  maxims  previously  assumed 
and  evidence  subsequently  discovered,  a  great  body  of  deriva- 
tive principles  being  worked  out  in  it  by  pure  reasoning.  Mr. 
Hume,  also,  both  as  a  metaphysical!  and  a  historian,  is  gravely 
censured  for  proceeding  in  the  inverse  order  from  laws  to  facts, 
and  reasoning  deductively  from  preconceived  doctrines.  To 
the  error  thus  committed  by  these  two  great  philosophers,  an 
error  in  which  they  were  followed  by  all  their  Scotch  con- 
temporaries, Mr.  Buckle  attributes  the  narrow  and  enslaved 
condition  of  the  human  mind  in  Scotland,  where,  for  three 
centuries,  it  has  remained  a  prey  to  superstition  and  religious 
persecution,  the  bigotry  and  blind  asceticism  of  the  Kirk  sti- 
fling all  freedom  of  thought  and  action,  and  compelling  the 
people  to  attribute  events  to  supernatural  causes,  instead  of 
tracing  them  to  the  immutable  action  of  physical  laws.  Super- 
stition and  spiritual  tyranny  rest  upon  arbitrary  assumptions 
and  the  deductive  method  ;  while  physical  science  in  general, 
and  especially  the  science  of  history,  find  their  advancement 
only  in  scepticism,  the  collection  of  facts,  and  the  application 
of  the  principles  of  the  inductive  philosophy.  Mr.  Buckle 
professes  to  act  upon  these  principles  with  the  utmost  rigor 
and  precision  ;  and  he  begins  with  an  elaborate  statement  of 
the  truths  which  his  whole  subsequent  history  is  to  prove. 

The  first  of  these  assumptions,  upon  which  the  whole  phi- 
losophy of  history  is  here  made  to  rest,  is  the  doctrine  of  Fatal- 
ism, or  the  necessity  which  governs  all  human  actions,  so  that, 
when  all  the  circumstances  are  known,  the  result  can  be  told 
beforehand  with  as  much  certainty  as  we  now  predict  the  oc- 
currence of  an  eclipse.  We  call  this  doctrine  an  assumption  ; 
for  it  is  made  in  opposition  to  the  clearest  and  most  abundant 
evidence.  It  is  a  fact  attested  by  the  consciousness  of  every 
human  being,  whether  learned  or  unlearned,  and  at  every  hour 
of  his  existence,  that,  when  two  courses  of  action  are  presented 


252  THE   PHILOSOPHICAL   RADICALS   IN   ENGLAND. 

to  him,  he  is  free  to  choose  between  them,  and  therefore  has 
only  himself  to  approve  or  blame  for  the  consequences  of  that 
choice.  In  practice,  this  great  truth  is  always  acknowledged 
and  acted  upon,  however  the  metaphysician  may  pretend  to 
question  it  in  his  abstract  speculation.  Hence  we  all  feel  self- 
reproach  or  self-gratulation,  after  the  consequences  of  our  con- 
duct have  become  manifest,  because  we  know  that  we  might 
have  acted  differently.  It  matters  not  that  we  cannot  explain 
how  man  is  free  ;  so  neither  can  we  tell  how  gravitation  binds 
the  earth  to  its  orbit,  or  brings  back  to  the  ground  a  stone 
that  has  been  thrown  into  the  air.  The  first  principle  of  the 
Positive  Philosophy  requires  us  to  accept  the  facts  as  we  find 
them,  whether  they  are  susceptible  of  explanation  or  not.  And 
the  fact  of  human  freedom  is  as  undeniable  as  any  phenomenon 
in  the  physical  world,  for  it  rests  upon  the  clear  and  dogmatic 
assertion  of  consciousness. 

Mr.  Buckle  attempts  to  impeach  the  credibility  of  this  testi- 
mony, on  the  ground,  first,  that  many  philosophers  have  de- 
nied, and  justly  too,  that  there  is  any  independent  or  special 
faculty  of  consciousness,  asserting  that  what  bears  that  name 
is  merely  a  general  state  or  condition  of  mind.  But  the  objec- 
tion only  shows  that  he  is  incapable  of  understanding  the  doc- 
trine that  he  cites,  and  that  his  acquaintance  with  psychology 
is  extremely  superficial.  Sir  William  Hamilton  censures  Reid 
for  degrading  consciousness  into  a  special  faculty,  rightly 
maintaining  that  it  is  an  attribute  of  all  our  faculties,  —  a 
general  condition  of  the  whole  intellect.  We  cannot  know, 
without  knowing  that  we  know ;  we  cannot  feel,  without 
knowing  that  we  feel  ;  we  cannot  will,  without  knowing  that 
we  will ;  and  this  self-recognition,  this  knowledge  that  the 

O  '  O 

mind  possesses  of  its  own  phenomena,  whereby  we  discrimi- 
nate our  own  mental  states  and  appropriate  them  as  our  own, 
is  what  we  call  consciousness.  We  degrade  the  authority  of 
consciousness,  then,  when  we  reduce  it  to  a  special  faculty ;  we 
exalt  it,  when  we  affirm  that  it  is  a  universal  condition  of  in- 
telligence, an  indispensable  prerequisite  of  all  knowledge. 
We  cannot  even  doubt  or  deny,  unless  we  are  conscious  that 
we  doubt  or  deny  ;  so  that  the  sceptic,  when  he  impeaches  the 
testimony  of  consciousness,  becomes  a  felo  de  se. 


BUCKLE'S  HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION.  253 

"  Waiving  this  objection,"  however,  proceeds  Mr.  Buckle, 
"  we  may,  in  the  second  place,  reply,  that  even  if  conscious- 
ness is  a  faculty,  we  have  the  testimony  of  all  history  to  prove 
that  it  is  extremely  fallible."  And  he  proceeds  to  cite  the 
changes  of  opinion,  the  various  creeds,  the  different  standards 
of  truth,  that  have  characterized  different  countries  and  ages, 
as  instances  of  this  fallibility.  We  are  sorry  to  reply,  that 
this  objection  betrays  even  greater  ignorance  than  the  former 
one.  Consciousness  does  not  affirm  the  validity,  the  truthful- 
ness, of  a  judgment  or  opinion,  but  only  the  existence  of  that 
judgment  as  a  present  phenomenon  of  mind.  Hence  we  are 
just  as  conscious  of  a  wrong  opinion  as  of  a  right  one  ;  or, 
rather,  we  are  conscious  only  of  the  belief  itself,  leaving  it  for 
subsequent  inquiry  and  reflection  to  determine  whether  it  is 
well  or  ill  founded.  We  could  make  no  progress  in  knowl- 
edge, we  could  never  uproot  old  errors,  if  consciousness  had 
not  rightly  informed  us  that  we  once  entertained  those  errors. 
Mr.  Buckle  proceeds  to  ask,  with  great  simplicity,  "  Are  we 
not  in  certain  circumstances  conscious  of  the  existence  of 
spectres  and  phantoms,"  though  it  is  "  generally  admitted  that 
such  beings  have  no  existence  at  all  ?  "  Certainly  not,  we 
answer.  We  are  conscious  only  of  seeing  indistinctly  some 
white  object  in  an  imperfect  light,  and  of  believing  it  at  the 
moment  to  be  a  spectre.  And  consciousness  was  right,  as  it 
always  is  ;  we  did  see  the  object,  and  wre  did  believe  it  to  be 
a  spectre :  but  examination  a  moment  afterwards  proved  that 
the  lelief  was  wrong,  for  the  supposed  spectre  was  only  an  old 
white  horse  grazing  in  a  churchyard.  It  is  humiliating  to  be 
forced  to  explain  so  simple  a  distinction  to  any  pne  but  a 
school-boy.  Mr.  Buckle  would  lay  the  blame  upon  conscious- 
ness, if  he  should  take  a  counterfeit  coin,  believing  it  to  be  a 
good  one.  Even  a  school-boy  would  tell  him  in  that  case, 
that  not  his  consciousness,  but  his  eyes  and  his  judgment, 
were  at  fault. 

The  leading  idea  of  Mr.  Buckle's  book,  "  the  magnificent 
idea,"  as  he  calls  it,  is,  "  that  everything  which  occurs  is  reg- 
ulated by  law,  and  that  confusion  and  disorder  are  impos- 
sible." In  the  application  of  this  idea  to  the  course  of  human 
affairs,  and  especially  to  the  human  will,  all  that  he  expects 


254  THE   PHILOSOPHICAL   RADICALS   IN   ENGLAND. 

us  to  concede  is,  "  that,  when  we  perform  an  action,  we  per- 
form it  in  consequence  of  some  motive  or  motives  ;  that  those 
motives  are  the  results  of  some  antecedents  ; "  and  conse- 
quently, if  we  knew  all  the  antecedents,  and  their  mode  or 
law  of  action,  we  could  unerringly  predict  all  that  will  follow. 
He  subsequently  defines  free  will  to  be  "  a  cause  of  action  re- 
siding in  the  mind,  and  exerting  itself  independently  of  mo- 
tives." 

Here  the  whole  gist  of  the  doctrine  and  of  the  argument  de- 
pends upon  the  words  which  we  have  italicized.  Certainly  no 
competent  advocate  of  the  freedom  of  volition  will  maintain 
that  the  determination  of  the  will  is  "  independent  of  "  mo- 
tives, in  the  sense  of  being  made  entirely  without  reference  to 
them,  just  as  if  no  motives  existed.  If  it  were  so,  then  indeed 
human  action  would  be  wholly  inconsequent  and  capricious, 
and  man  would  be  cursed  with  a  freedom  which  he  could  not 
exercise  except  by  resigning  all  the  higher  attributes  of  his 
nature.  His  freedom  would  be  mere  license,  —  the  caprice  of 
an  irrational  being,  to  whom  no  one  course  of  action  appears 
better  than  another.  But  it  is  not  so  ;  man  is  not  only  a  free 
being,  but  a  rational  being ;  capable  of  preferences,  and  hav- 
ing a  sense  of  right  and  wrong;  endued  with  judgment  and 
foresight.  Because  he  is  reasonable,  his  actions  can  genei*ally 
be  predicted  by  one  who  has  a  fair  knowledge  of  his  character 
and  the  special  circumstances  of  the  case ;  because  he  is  free, 
he  not  infrequently  breaks  away  from  his  former  courses,  re- 
nounces old  habits,  gives  the  lie  to  former  resolutions,  and 
acts  even  from  a  caprice  or  a  whim.  His  circumstances  have 
not  changed,  but  Tie  has  changed.  His  former  action  had  been 
"  in  consequence  of  "  some  leading  motive,  yet  not  in  the 
sense  of  being  enslaved  to  it,  and  necessarily  yielding  to  its 
direction,  just  as  a  mass  of  brute  matter  inevitably  follows  a 
sufficient  tractive  force.  Man  does  not  thus  yield,  because 
man  is  not  brute  matter  ;  because  he  is  not  dead,  but  living, 
and  has  an  innate  force,  which  can  resist  both  external  circum- 
stances and  internal  temptation.  Motives  do  not  act  upon  his 
will,  but  he  acts  upon  the  motives,  —  considers  them,  weighs 
them  against  each  other,  suspends  all  action  in  reference  to 
them  until  they  are  thus  fully  weighed,  and  treats  them  always 


BUCKLE'S  HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION.  255 

as  subservient  to  his  determination,  never  as  controlling  it,  — 
as  his  guides,  never  as  his  musters.  A  weight  suspended  by  a 
rope  necessarily  hangs  always  in  the  same  direction,  perpendic- 
ular to  the  horizon,  unless  drawn  or  pushed  aside  by  some 
force  external  to  itself.  Because  we  recognize  its  essential  in- 
ertness or  incapacity  of  automatic  action,  we  never  see  it  de- 
flected from  a  perpendicular  without  seeking  some  external 
cause  for  such  deflexion.  But  a  living  man,  suspended  by  his 
hands,  can  exert  spontaneously  the  force  that  is  in  him  to  throw 
his  body  out  of  the  line  of  gravitation ;  and  we  know  that  the 
power  thus  exerted  comes  from  within,  —  that  the  man  moves 
himself.  This,  indeed,  is  an  exertion  of  muscular  power,  and 
a  physical  antecedent  can  be  found  for  it,  in  the  nervous  action 
which  is  needed  to  bring  the  muscles  into  play.  But  no  such 
physical  antecedent  exists  for  the  volition  which  brings  out 
the  nervous  energy,  and  which  is,  in  every  sense  of  the  word, 
spontaneous.  We  may  assign  a  motive  as  the  reason  of  such 
a  volition,  but  not  as  its  cause  ;  for  causation  implies  power, 
and  a  reason  or  motive,  being  a  mere  abstraction,  a  considera- 
tion present  to  the  mind,  it  is  absurd  to  consider  it  as  exerting 
force.  Force  is  an  attribute  of  substance,  not  of  thought.  We 
attribute  force  to  the  will  only  in  so  far  as  the  will  is  identified 
with  the  man  himself.  A  motive  is  a  desire,  which  is  a  pas- 
sive state  of  mind  ;  and  it  is  notorious  that  desires  and  voli- 
tions often  run  in  opposite  directions,  so  that  we  desire  one 
thing  and  will  another. 

Like  most  of  the  modern  speculatists  who  deny  the  freedom 
of  the  will,  Mr.  Buckle  attempts  to  avoid  some  of  the  appalling 
consequences  of  Fatalism,  by  substituting  for  it  what  is  called 
the  doctrine  of  Necessity.  But  this  is  setting  up  a  distinction 
without  a  difference.  lie  asserts  that  "  the  actions  of  men, 
being  determined  solely  ly  their  antecedents,  must  have  a 
character  of  uniformity,  that  is  to  say,  must,  under  precisely 
the  same  circumstances,  always  issue  in  precisely  the  same 
results.''  This  is  plain  Fatalism ;  the  circumstances  being 
what  they  were,  the  man  could  not  have  acted  otherwise  ; 
then  he  is  not  responsible  for  that  action.  But  among  these 
'•antecedents''  the  Necessitarians  admit  not  only  the  exter- 
nal circumstances  by  which  the  man  is  surrounded,  but  his 


256  THE   PHILOSOPHICAL   RADICALS   IN   ENGLAND. 

own  previous  disposition  and  chai'acter, —  the  general  bent 
of  mind  by  which  he  inclines  to  one  course  of  action  rather 
than  another.  They  immediately  add,  however,  that  this  pre- 
vailing disposition  or  character  is  still  determined  for  him  and 
not  by  him,  —  that  is,  determined  by  previous  circumstances, 
whose  action  upon  his  own  mind  he  could  not  avoid.  Where- 
in, then,  consists  his  freedom  ?  It  matters  not  whether  his 
action  is  determined  by  immediate  or  remote  external  events, 
if  the  determination  in  either  case  is  absolute  and  necessary. 
If  physical  antecedents  form  the  character,  and  then  the  char- 
acter determines  the  volition,  it  is  evidently  the  same  thing  as 
if  those  antecedents  acted  directly  upon  the  will. 

This  distinction  of  the  Necessitarians  may  be  illustrated  by 
that  part  of  the  process  for  the  manufacture  of  shot,  whereby 
the  globules  which  are  perfectly  spherical  are  separated  from 
those  of  irregular  shape,  by  allowing  all  of  them  to  roll  down 
an  inclined  plane.  The  perfectly  spherical  shot  roll  in  a 
straight  line  from  the  top  to  the  bottom  ;  and  these  may  rep- 
resent minds  according  to  the  Fatalist's  theory,  their  course 
being  determined  exclusively  by  an  external  force,  —  that  of 
gravitation.  On  the  Necessitarian  hypothesis,  minds  are  like 
the  imperfectly  formed  shot,  whose  course  is  determined  not 
only  by  gi'avitation,  but  by  their  own  lob-sidedness,  which 
causes  them,  instead  of  moving  straight  onward,  to  waddle  off 
to  one  side,  and  there  stop.  But  their  imperfect  sphericity  is 
determined  for  them,  and  not  by  them,  by  the  previous  action 
of  the  shot-maker  in  forming  the  globules.  They  govern 
themselves  only  in  this  wise  :  they  have  been  so  badly  formed 
that  they  wander  out  of  what  would  otherwise  be  the  track  of 
their  destiny.  Are  they  any  the  more  free,  or  self-determined, 
for  that  ? 

For  the  support  of  his  theory,  Mr.  Buckle  does  not  depend 
much  on  psychological  observation  or  metaphysical  reasoning. 
He  relies  chiefly  upon  such  statistical  evidence  as  has  been 
collected  by  M.  Quetelet  and  other  observers,  which  has  dis- 
closed great  uniformity  in  human  actions,  even  in  some  par- 
ticulars where  it  was  least  expected.  Thus,  in  a  given  popu- 
lation, provided  it  be  a  very  large  one,  the  number  of  murders, 
of  suicides,  and  of  persons  accused  of  various  crimes,  varies 


BUCKLE'S  HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION.  257 

but  little  from  year  to  year,  and  maintains  about  the  same 
proportion  to  the  whole  number  of  the  people.  Even  the 
various  instruments  with  which  these  crimes  are  committed 
are  employed  in  nearly  the  same  degree  of  frequency.  It  is 
not  pretended  that  the  coincidence  is  accurate.  The  annual 
number  of  suicides  in  London,  for  the  five  yeai-s  preceding 
1850,  varied  from  213  to  2G6,  or  about  twenty-five  per  cent. 
As  larger  aggregates  are  taken,  however,  the  rate  of  variation 
is  less.  Thus,  the  average  number  for  these  five  years  is  242; 
and  it  is  believed,  though  the  returns  are  not  given,  that  the 
corresponding  average  for  the  five  years  immediately  preced- 
ing, or  immediately  subsequent,  would  not  vary  from  this 
number  perhaps  more  than  ten  per  cent.  The  uniformity  of 
the  law,  which  is  obvious  enough  when  the  numbers  are  very 
large,  is  obscured  as  they  become  less,  owing  to  the  presence, 
as  it  is  argued,  of  small  disturbing  forces  and  minor  laws, 
which  render  the  case  more  complicated.  It  is  only  when 
these  perturbations  are  eliminated,  or  reduced  to  insignificance 
by  the  multitude  of  cases,  that  the  working  of  the  great  social 
law  becomes  manifest.  Mr.  Buckle's  inference  is,  that  human 
actions  in  the  long  run  depend  upon  great  laws  affecting  the 
general  state  of  society,  and  not  upon  the  peculiarities  of  indi- 
viduals. Murder  and  suicide  may  seem  to  be  infrequent  and 
abnormal  acts,  contingent  on  accidental  combinations  of  events 
and  the  idiosyncrasies  of  peculiar  temperaments.  But  even 
here,  statisticians  demonstrate,  if  their  observations  have  been 
broad  enough,  that  great  uniformity  prevails,  and  the  constant 
periodical  repetition  of  the  deed  points  to  the  steady  operation 
of  some  uniform  cause,  which  has  not  yet  perhaps  been  traced 
or  analyzed. 

Are  not  such  results,  however,  precisely  what  we  ought  to 
expect,  on  the  supposition  that  man  is  not  only  free,  but  intel- 
ligent? Reason  and  foresight,  under  similar  circumstances, 
lead  to  general  similarity  of  action.  The  uniformity,  it  is 
true,  is  not  as  perfect  as  if  it  had  been  produced  by  the  blind 
and  unimpeded  operation  of  some  mechanical  cause.  But  it 
is  precisely  this  partial  uniformity  which  the  returns  of  the 
statistician  indicate.  If  all  action  were  mechanical  and  neces- 
sary, there  would  be  no  need  of  uniting  a  great  multitude  of 


258  THE   PHILOSOPHICAL   RADICALS   IN   ENGLAND. 

cases  in  order  to  reveal  the  law  of  that  action  ;  the  results 
would  be  as  uniform  as  the  successive  strokes  of  a  steam- 
engine.  The  fingers  of  a  hand-loom  weaver  do  not  give  as 
regular  action  to  the  shuttle  as  it  receives  in  the  power-loom  ; 
and  yet  the  motion  is  so  uniform  that,  for  hours  together,  the 
hand  of  the  workman  seems  to  be  almost  a  portion  of  the 
machine.  Tell  that  workman,  however,  that  his  action  is 
necessary  or  uncontrollable,  that  he  is  not  free  to  make,  the 
movement  faster  or  slower,  or  to  intermit  it  altogether,  and  he 
will  laugh  in  your  face.  Where  did  M.  Comte  or  his  English 
disciple  learn,  that  all  phenomena  which  are  "  governed  by 
will  are  therefore  eminently  variable  and  irregular  ?"  They 
might  as  well  have  confounded  the  law  of  morals  with  the  law 
of  gravitation  ;  for  though  the  former  is  addressed  to  free  and 
intelligent  beings,  and  the  latter  describes  only  the  action  of 
brute  atoms,  the  uniformity  of  the  result  may  be  nearly  the 
same  in  the  one  case  as  in  the  other. 

After  all,  the  attempt  to  discover  laws  of  nature  through  the 
rude  approximations  of  statistics,  emploving  numbers  enor- 
mously large,  and  manipulating  them  by  the  method  of  aver- 
ages and  the  doctrine  of  probabilities,  is  a  procedure  that  can 
hardly  be  dignified  with  the  name  of  science.  A  law  of  nature 
does  not  deserve  its  name  if  it  be  not  precise  and  unerring. 
But  an  average  is  only  a  compensation  of  errors,  and  just  the 
same  average  is  struck  whether  the  errors  are  large  or  small. 
Ten  is  the  arithmetical  mean,  not  only  between  nine  and 
eleven,  but  between  one  and  nineteen,  and  all  the  correspond- 
ing intermediate  numbers.  If  a  man  fires  a  great  number  of 
shots  at  a  target,  the  average  result  of  his  shooting  will  be 
precisely  the  same,  whether  he  is  a  very  poor  marksman  or 
a  very  good  one.  For  as  there  is  no  reason  why  the  deviations 
or  errors  should  be  in  any  one  direction  from  the  centre  rather 
than  any  oilier,  the  mean  of  all  these  deviations  will  indicate 
precisely  the  same  point,  whether  the  circle  including  them  all 
be  six  inches  or  six  feet  in  radius.  The  figures  cited  by  Mr. 
Buckle  show,  that  the  average  proportion  of  suicides  to  the 
whole  population  of  London,  taking  the  mean  of  several  years, 
is  about  one  to  ten  thousand.  But  in  order  that  this  fact  may 
answer  his  purpose,  which  is  to  prove  that  a  human  being  is  a 


BUCKLE'S  HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION.  259 

mere  machine,  moved  only  by  antecedents  that  are  rigorously 
subject  to  law,  it  must  be  interpreted  to  signify  that  there  is 
a  suicidal  propensity  in  human  nature  equal  to  just  one  ten- 
thousandth  part  of  the  sum  of  all  the  impulses  by  which  that 
nature  is  governed.  Now,  among  one  hundred  thousand  Lon- 
doners, taken  at  random,  not  a  single  suicide  may  occur  in  the 
course  of  a  year  ;  among  another  hundred  thousand,  taken  in 
like  manner,  there  may  be,  within  the  same  time,  one  hundred 
cases.  Neither  of  these  facts,  considered  separately,  is  recon- 
cilable with  Mr.  Buckle's  law,  while  their  mean  result  seems 
to  him  to  substantiate  that  law.  According  to  such  reasoning, 
the  mean  result  of  two  falsehoods  is  a  truth.  And  in  order  to 
obtain  his  approximate  result,  rude  as  it  is,  he  is  obliged  to 
class  together  events  which  are  really  very  dissimilar.  A  sui- 
cide caused  by  failure  in  business  is  not  the  same  thing  with 
one  produced  by  religious  fanaticism,  or  another  committed 
when  the  patient  was  raving  mad.  It  is  idle  to  suppose  that 
one  law  of  nature  governs  cases  so  unlike  as  those  of  Chatter- 
ton,  Clive,  Romilly,  Castlereagh,  Hay  don,  and  Sadleir. 

The  doctrine  of  probabilities,  an  obscure  reference  to  which 
is  the  basis  of  Mr.  Buckle's  reasoning,  is  a  law  which  governs 
the  expectations  of  men  respecting  a  certain  event,  and  not  a 
law  controlling  the  event  itself.  It  is  psychological,  not  physi- 
cal. That  is  said  to  be  prolalle  or  likdy,  which  we  expect 
to  happen  ;  but  it  is  a  vulgar  error,  and  one  into  which  Mr. 
Buckle  has  fallen,  to  believe  that  such  expectation,  however 
great,  creates  any  physical  impulse  or  tendency  which  will 
contribute  to  make  it  happen.  If  a  hundred  thousand  balls 
are  placed  in  an  urn,  and  but  one  of  them  is  black,  it  is  physi- 
cally just  as  possible  that  I  should  draw  that  one  black  ball  at 
the  first  trial,  as  any  other,  though  the  probability  of  doing  so 
is  but  one  out  of  a  hundred  thousand.  Nay,  if  each  of  these 
balls  is  numbered  separately  from  one  up  to  a  hundred  thou- 
sand, I  must  draw  at  the  first  trial  some  one  number  which 
was  just  as  unlikely  to  come  uppermost  as  the  single  black 
ball. 

But  we  have  dwelt  too  long  upon  Mr.  Buckle's  philosophy 
of  history,  to  the  exclusion  of  the  history  itself,  if  the  extraor- 
dinary selection  of  facts  and  disquisitions  which  he  has  brought 


260  THE   PHILOSOPHICAL   RADICALS   IN   ENGLAND. 

together  can  be  dignified  with  that  name.  His  method,  as  we 
have  seen,  is  to  examine  the  history  of  what  man  has  been, 
and  what  he  has  done,  in  order  to  ascertain  the  laws  both  of 
his  being  and  of  his  action.  He  begins  by  assuming  that  there 
are  two  sets  of  laws  to  which  man  is  subject,  the  laws  of  mat- 
ter and  the  laws  of  mind.  Where  man  is  more  powerful  than 
nature,  as  he  generally  is  in  Europe,  the  latter  class  of  laws 
prevail,  or  have  the  most  influence  in  shaping  his  conduct  and 
welfare  ;  but  where  nature  is  the  stronger,  as  it  has  been  in  all 
countries  out  of  Europe,  physical  laws  have  the  strongest  in- 
fluence. 

This  is  one  of  the  rash  and  hasty  generalizations  which  are 
perfectly  characteristic  of  our  author.  He  has  no  caution  or 
reserve  as  a  speculatist ;  he  never  seeks  for  the  exceptions  to  a 
principle,  or  the  limitations  of  it,  though  a  careful  study  of 
these  generally  leads  to  such  a  modified  statement  of  the  gen- 
eral maxim  as  alters  its  whole  character  and  application.  But 
if  Mr.  Buckle  ever  takes  notice  of  an  exception  which  is  too 
salient  to  be  winked  out  of  sight,  he  wastes  his  strength  on  an 
attempt  to  explain  it  away.  He  mutilates  the  facts,  that  he 
may  force  them  into  accordance  with  his  theory.  The  Euro- 
pean has  generally  triumphed,  and  the  Asiatic  generally  failed, 
in  the  contest  with  nature,  not  because  the  former  had  fewer 
physical  obstacles  to  contend  with,  or  fewer  physical  enervat- 
ing influences  to  resist ;  but  because  the  European  was  strong, 
and  the  Asiatic  weak,  in  those  moral  and  intellectual  resources 
which  always  give  the  victory  against  any  odds.  Many  large 
regions  of  Asia,  and  even  of  Africa,  afford  as  favorable  sites 
for  civilization,  so  far  as  physical  conditions  are  concerned,  as 
the  most  favored  districts  of  Europe,  where  the  arts  long  siiice 
found  a  permanent  home.  But  we  should  insult  our  readers 
by  pausing  to  enumerate  such  obvious  exceptions  to  the  gen- 
eral principle  thus  dogmatically  enounced.  Our  own  position 
is,  that  man  is  everywhere  stronger  than  nature,  except  per- 
haps within  the  Arctic  and  Antarctic  Circles,  or  on  the  Desert 
of  Sahara;  —  meaning,  of  course,  not  isolated  man,  but  men 
leagued  in  society,  however  rude,  and  thereby  bringing  to  the 
struggle  the  united  strength  of  intellects  and  muscles  banded 
together  and  aiding  each  other.  If  they  ever  succumb  in  the 


BUCKLE'S   HISTORY   OF  CIVILIZATION.  261 

contest,  their  defeat  is  owing  to  their  own  vices  and  degener- 
acy, and  not  to  physical  influences  too  strong  to  be  resisted. 
The  Esquimaux  and  the  Laplander  can  live  even  within  the 
limits  of  the  Arctic  Circle  ;  and  the  Icelanders,  on  the  very 
borders  of  it,  have  kept  up  civilization  for  nearly  a  thousand 
years. 

But  let  us  follow  Mr.  Buckle  to  his  own  ground,  —  to  a  con- 
sideration of  those  physical  influences  which,  as  he  would  have 
us  believe,  everywhere  but  in  Europe,  —  that  is,  over  at  least 
fourteen  fifteenths  of  the  earth's  landed  surface, — have  either 
civilized  man  in  spite  of  himself,  or  have  successfully  resisted 
his  own  best  efforts  to  emerge  from  barbarism.  The  Necessi- 
tarian may  well  triumph  if  he  can  make  out,  for  so  large  a 
portion  of  the  globe,  an  overwhelming  predominance  of  physi- 
cal over  mental  laws  in  shaping  human  destiny.  He  does  not 
weary  us  with  a  long  catalogue  of  the  natural  agencies  by 
which  the  welfare  of  the  human  race  is  most  affected.  He 
enumerates  only  four,  —  Climate,  Soil,  Food,  and  what  he  calls 
the  "  General  Aspect  of  Nature,"  meaning  thereby  those  im- 
posing and  awful  features  of  natural  scenery,  which,  by  inflam- 
ing the  imagination,  generate  superstition,  and  thus  most  ef- 
fectually retard  the  progress  of  the  human  race.  We  object 
at  once  to  this  enumeration  as  both  redundant  and  defective  ; 
redundant,  as  embracing  both  Soil  and  Food,  though  the  most 
important  office  of  the  former  is  to  produce  the  latter,  so  that 
the  two  should  be  counted  but  as  one ;  and  defective,  be- 
cause, to  say  nothing  of  other  omissions,  it  leaves  out  Geo- 
graphical Position,  which  is,  perhaps,  the  most  important  of 
them  all.  A  more  attentive  consideration  of  Assyrian,  Egyp- 
tian. Greek,  Roman,  and  English  civilization  might  possibly 
convince  Mr.  Buckle  that  a  situation  along  the  banks  of  a 
great  fertilizing  and  navigable  river,  or  the  possession  of  a  long 
line  of  deeply  indented  sea-coast,  is  a  circumstance  highly  fa- 
vorable to  the  rise  and  continuance  of  civilization.  We  are 
not  reconciled,  moreover,  to  the  exclusion  of  another  important 
element.  Inherited  Qualities  of  Race,  merely  by  the  quotation 
of  a  magisterial  remark  by  Mr.  Mill,  that  "  of  all  vulgar  modes 
of  escaping  from  the  consideration  of  the  effect  of  social  and 
moral  influences  on  the  human  mind,  the  most  vulgar  is  that 


262  THE   PHILOSOPHICAL   RADICALS   IN   ENGLAND. 

of  attributing  the  diversities  of  conduct  and  character  to  in- 
herited natural  differences."  We  hold  that  there  is  one  more 
vulgar  still ;  and  that  is,  to  attribute  a  preponderant  influence 
to  Food  and  Climate.  And  though  not  placing  so  much  stress 
as  many  naturalists  have  done  on  the  peculiarities  of  the  so- 
called  Varieties  of  Mankind,  we  still  think  that  there  is  a  good 
deal  in  the  history  and  the  present  condition  of  the  Mongolian, 
the  African,  the  American,  and  the  Circassian  races  to  sustain 
the  belief,  that  these  races  are  distinguished  from  one  another 
by  some  important  original  and  innate  characteristics  both  of 
body  and  mind. 

But  faulty  as  Mr.  Buckle's  enumeration  is,  to  analyze  and 
develop  the  manner  in  which  the  habits  and  characters  of 
different  nations  have  been  affected  by  peculiarities  of  their 
Climate,  Food,  Soil,  and  Scenery,  would  have  been  an  agree- 
able and  instructive  disquisition.  Montesquieu  began  such  an 
analysis,  but  left  it  very  imperfect.  Xo  opponent  of  the  doc- 
trine of  necessity  denies  that  men  adapt  their  habits  to  their 
circumstances,  that  their  customs  and  tastes  are  flexible,  and 
that  even  their  characters  are  gradually  modified  by  a  change 
in  their  habits  and  pursuits.  All  this  is  an  evidence  rather  of 
man's  power  than  of  his  weakness.  To  adopt  Lord  Bacon's 
phrase,  Man  conquers  Nature  by  obeying  her  laws.  He  is 
born  a  cosmopolite  ;  he  can  live  everywhere,  except,  as  we  have 
said,  in  the  regions  of  perpetual  frost  ;  and  habit  can  endear 
the  most  rugged  and  unpromising  country  to  him,  and  can 
make  its  rigors  minister  to  his  comfort. 

But  this  is  too  simple  a  view  foi  Mr.  Buckle  to  take.  He 
must  represent  man,  everywhere  but  in  Europe,  not  as  the 
helpmate  and  often  the  master  of  Nature,  but  as  her  slave. 
And  his  description  of  the  means  and  process,  as  well  as  of  the 
results,  of  this  subjugation,  is  most  extraordinary.  Some  of 
the  most  controverted  theories  of  English  political  economy, 
first  suggested  by  the  peculiar  condition  of  the  laboring  classes 
in  England  and  Ireland  for  the  last  hundred  years,  doubtful 
even  in  relation  to  them,  and  unquestionably  false  in  their 
application  to  any  other  country  and  age,  are  here  brought  for- 
ward as  the  keys  of  universal  history,  and  as  alone  adequate 
to  explain  all  the  peculiarities  of  Hindoo  and  Egyptian  charac- 

*-  O»/    J. 


BUCKLE'S  HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION.  263 

ter  and  civilization  throughout  forty  centuries.  Malthus's  doc- 
trine of  population  and  Ricardo's  theory  of  rent  have  been  put 
to  hard  service  by  their  authors,  but  were  never  before  required 
to  solve  such  problems  as  these.  The  bare  attempt  to  make 
such  use  of  them  is  an  anachronism  and  a  blunder.  Who  told 
Mr.  Buckle  that  the  population  of  Egypt  under  the  Pharaohs 
was  in  the  same  state  as  the  population  of  Ireland  under  Queen 
Victoria?  or  that  the  cause  of  the  people's  misery  in  either  case 
was  that  they  multiplied  too  fast,  and  not  rather  the  pressure 
of  institutions  and  laws  which  avowedly  favored  the  unequal 
distribution  of  wealth  ?  Ireland  has  never  been  so  thickly 
peopled  as  Belgium,  it  has  at  least  an  equally  fertile  soil,  and 
both  these  countries  annually  export  large  quantities  of  food. 
How  idle  is  it,  then,  to  attribute  the  sufferings  of  the  Irish,  or 
of  the  ancient  Egyptians,  to  their  numbers  having  outrun  their 
subsistence,  instead  of  tracing  the  evil  to  the  form  of  polity 
by  which  they  were  oppressed  !  The  institution  of  Castes  on 
the  largest  scale,  an  institution  which  has  its  origin  and  its 
support  in  political  and  religious  considerations,  has  always 
been  the  characteristic  feature  of  Hindoo  and  Egyptian  civiliza- 
tion ;  and  where  the  system  of  Caste  is  rigidly  enforced,  there 
is  no  freedom  of  competition  in  the  dealings  between  man 
and  man,  and  consequently  no  division  of  value  into  its  three 
component  elements.  Even  where  African  slavery  continues 
to  exist  as  a  single  Caste,  the  distinction  between  wages  and 
profits  disappears,  the  increase  or  diminution  of  the  laboring 
class  depends  solely  on  the  will  of  the  master,  which  is  regu- 
lated by  calculations  of  profit,  and  the  theories  of  Malthus  and 
Pvicardo,  consequently,  are  as  little  applicable  as  they  would  be 
in  a  community  like  that  of  the  Shakers,  where  all  property  is 
held  in  common  and  no  intercourse  is  permitted  between  the 
sexes. 

Mr.  Buckle's  eagerness  to  represent  the  character  and  con- 
duct of  men  as  determined  by  merely  physical  antecedents, 
and  hence  to  solve  the  problems  of  history  through  the  dis- 
coveries of  modern  physical  science,  has  led  him  to  make  as 
rash  use  of  chemistry  and  physiology  in  his  work,  as  of  po- 
litical economy.  Perhaps  a  childish  vanity  of  displaying  the 
extent  of  his  acquaintance  with  the  various  sciences  has  often 


264  THE   PHILOSOPHICAL   RADICALS   IN   ENGLAND. 

unconsciously  determined  the  character  of  his  speculations. 
Thus,  he  sometimes  laboriously  constructs  a  complicated  scien- 
tific explanation  of  a  fact  or  phenomenon  so  simple  in  itself 
that  it  is  only  darkened  by  any  attempt  to  render  it  more  in- 
telligible. "  The  inhabitants  of  the  polar  regions,"  he  tells 
us,  "  consume  large  quantities  of  whale  oil  and  blubber  ;  while 
within  the  tropics,  the  ordinary  food  consists  almost  entirely 
of  fruit,  rice,  and  other  vegetables."  The  reason  is  obvious. 
Where  no  vegetables  whatever  are  produced,  as  in  the  ice- 
bound regions  of  the  North,  the  inhabitants  live  upon  the  only 
food  that  is  within  their  reach  ;  while  the  Hindoos  find  a 
vegetable  diet  the  cheapest.  But  this  is  too  simple  a  view  of 
the  matter  to  answer  Mr.  Buckle's  purpose.  He  must  lug  in 
by  the  ears  a  long  disquisition  on  some  very  questionable 
chemical  speculations  of  Liebig,  whereby  the  heat  of  the  hu- 
man body  is  traced  to  the  use  of  highly  carbonized  food  ;  and 
we  are  gravely  informed  that  the  oils  contain  six  times  as  much 
carbon  as  the  fruits.  Animal  food  is  more  difficult  to  be  had, 
and  more  of  it  is  needed,  in  cold  countries  than  in  hot  ones  ; 
therefore  wages  tend  to  be  lower  in  tropical  regions  than  in 
Northern  Europe.  Hence  the  lamentable  paradox  of  the  Eng- 
lish school,  that  cheap  and  abundant  food  is  an  evil,  after  be- 
ing falsely  applied  to  account  for  the  miseries  of  Ireland,  is 
here  brought  forward  to  explain  the  origin  and  character  of 
Asiatic  civilization.  The  whole  theory  is  confuted  by  expe- 
rience in  America,  where  food  is  cheaper  and  wages  are  higher 
than  in  Great  Britain.  Moreover,  all  classes  in  our  Southern 
Slave  States,  countries  of  the  orange  and  the  sugar-cane,  ha- 
bitually use  more  animal  food  than  the  laboring  Scotch,  who 
live  about  thirty  degrees  nearer  the  North  Pole.  Mr.  Buckle 
reasons  thus:  A  fat  soil  and  a  hot  climate  make  cheap  food; 
cheap  food  depresses  wagef  ;  low  wages  cause  an  unequal  dis- 
tribution of  wealth  :  and  inequality  of  wealth  produces  an  in- 
equality of  political  power  and  social  influence.  But  these 
inequalities  exist  in  Russia  in  as  great,  if  not  a  greater,  degree 
than  in  Southern  Asia ;  and  Russia  unfortunately  is  a  very 
cold  country,  where  the  need  of  animal  food  is  very  pressing. 
In  truth,  experience  and  common  sense  should  teach  Mr. 
Buckle  to  invert  his  order  of  cause  and  effect,  and  reason  the 


BUCKLE'S  HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION.  265 

other  way.  In  dynastic  changes  and  military  usurpations,  he 
should  find  the  origin  of  despotic  power  ;  to  despotic  and  aris- 
tocratic institutions,  he  should  trace  the  inequality  of  wealth  ; 
and  the  great  body  of  poverty  thus  created  keeps  wages  de- 
pressed, and  reduces  the  laborer  to  the  poorest  possible  diet, 
even  where  nature's  bounty  makes  rich  food  abundant  and 
cheap.  But  as  such  reasoning  would  prove  man  to  be  more 
powerful  than  nature,  or  the  human  will  to  be  independent 
of  physical  antecedents,  it  does  not  suit  our  author's  purpose. 

We  must  not  dwell  longer  on  the  details  of  this  gloomy  and 
scandalous  theory,  and  can  only  point  out  in  general  terms  the 
grand  fallacy  of  the  argument  by  which  it  is  supported.  Take 
any  scheme  of  social  philosophy,  any  theory  of  human  life 
and  character,  however  extravagant,  and  allow  its  author  to 
range  over  the  history  of  all  countries  and  ages  for  facts  and 
illustrations  which  may  seem  to  harmonize  with  it,  while  he 
is  not  expected  to  notice  any  that  contradict  it,  nor  to  enter 
into  any  detailed  or  consecutive  narrative,  and  it  will  be 
strange  indeed  if  it  is  not  made  to  appear  ingenious  and  plau- 
sible, and  if  careless  readers  do  not  accept  it  as  sound  and  able 
speculation.  In  this  Introduction  to  his  great  work,  an  Intro- 
duction which  already  fills  two  bulky  volumes,  Mr.  Buckle 
revels  in  the  large  I'esults  of  his  desultory  studies  and  omnivo- 
rous reading.  He  has  brought  together  a  vast  magazine  of 
the  scraps  of  learning,  and  weaves  them  into  any  fabric  that 
may  suit  his  fancy,  rather  than  his  judgment.  He  is  not 
pinned  down  to  any  method,  he  is  not  confined  to  any  prin- 
ciple of  selection.  He  has  put  under  contribution  all  science, 
all  philosophy,  and  all  history,  at  liberty  to  cull  what  he  chose, 
and  care'ul  not  to  see  anything  which  would  obstruct  his 
progress,  suggest  difficulties,  or  mar  in  any  way  the  harmony 
of  his  fabric.  In  the  same  chapter,  <ind  even  the  same  para- 
graph, he  glances  from  India  to  Peru,  from  the  polar  regions 
to  Arabia,  from  the  history  of  the  tenth  century  before  Christ 
to  that  of  the  debates  on  the  Reform  Bill  and  the  Paper  Duty. 
The  wealth  and  civilization  of  ancient  Peru  are  attributed  to 
the  lavish  bounty  of  nature,  the  fact  being  conveniently  for- 
gotten, that  over  a  large  portion  of  that  country  rain  never 
falls  ;  while  California,  better  watered  than  Peru,  is  described 


266  THE   PHILOSOPHICAL   RADICALS   IX  ENGLAND. 

as  a  parched  and  sterile  region,  in  order  that  the  lack  of  moist- 
ure and  the  consequent  dearness  of  food  may  explain  the  un- 
civilized state  of  its  aboriginal  inhabitants.  Brazil,  again, 
where  all  the  resources  of  natural  wealth  exist  in  measure- 
less profusion,  never  became  civilized,  as  this  author  tells  us, 
precisely  on  account  of  the  abundance  of  her  riches.  Nat- 
ure is  too  potent  for  man ;  her  rivers  and  forests  are  too 
grand  ;  vegetation  is  too  luxuriant  ;  animal  life  is  too  varied 
and  abundant ;  "  enormous  meadows,  reeking  with  heat  and 
moisture,"  afford  nourishment  to  too  many  herds  of  wild  cat- 
tle. Why,  according  to  Mr.  Buckle's  theory,  Brazil,  before 
it  was  visited  by  Europeans,  ought  to  have  been  the  most 
civilized  country  in  the  world.  If  the  blessings  of  nature  in 
respect  of  climate,  soil,  and  food  civilized  India,  Egypt,  and 
Peru,  a  still  greater  measure  of  those  blessings  ought  to  have 
done  as  much,  or  more,  for  ancient  Brazil.  Mr.  Buckle  for- 
gets, also,  that  the  central  and  southern  portions  of  the  United 
States,  including  nearly  the  whole  of  the  magnificent  valley 
of  the  Mississippi,  present  just  that  assemblage  of  physical 
conditions  to  which,  as  he  maintains,  the  superior  civilization 
of  Europe  herself  owes  its  origin.  If  the  qualities  of  race 
count  for  nothing,  but  merely  physical  agencies  do  all,  and  if, 

O  7  \J      -L          */  O 

consequently,  all  refinement  and  progress  must  be  of  home 
origin,  created  and  nourished  by  the  natural  influences  of  the 
region  within  which  they  exist,  then  Hendrik  Hudson,  John 
Smith,  and  William  Penn  ought  to  have  found  here  a  more 
advanced  civilization  than  that  which  they  brought  with  them. 
Besides,  as  the  great  physical  features  of  a  country  remain 
unchanged  through  all  time,  all  that  depends  upon  them  ought 
to  be  equally  permanent  and  irreversible.  The  climate,  soil, 
and  scenery  of  Egypt  and  India  are  the  same  now  that  they 
were  under  Sesostris  or  Porus ;  but  the  present  semi-bar- 
barous condition  of  their  native  inhabitants  exhibits  no  trace 
of  the  arts,  culture,  and  refinement  which  distinguished  their 
ancestors  thousands  of  years  ago.  Even  the  languages  have 
perished  which  contain  the  records  of  their  ancient  civiliza- 
tion, except  so  far  as  they  have  been  recovered  by  the  inge- 
nuity and  learning  of  European  scholars.  And  what  was  the 
condition  of  Britain,  Gaul,  and  Germany,  down  to  at  least  as 


BUCKLE'S    HISTORY   OF   CIVILIZATION.  267 

late  a  period  as  the  fall  of  the  Roman  empire  in  the  West  ? 
They  were  surrounded  by  the  same  physical  agencies  then  as 
now ;  but  the  light  of  civilization  had  hardly  yet  dawned  upon 
them. 

A  discovery  of  the  laws  of  European  history  being  resolved 
by  Mr.  Buckle  primarily  into  a  study  of  the  laws  of  the  hu- 
man mind,  and  his  method  of  psychological  study  consisting 
merely  in  the  observation  of  phenomena,  and  in  the  application 
to  them  of  the  principles  of  all  inductive  science,  we  have  the 
first  grand  result  of  his  investigations  in  the  statement,  that 
moral  truths  are  stationary,  while  intellectual  truths  alone  are 
progressive.  Hence,  he  concludes,  we  are  to  look  for  the  ad- 
vancement of  the  race  to  the  development  of  the  intellect,  and 
not  at  all  to  the  cultivation  of  the  moral  feelings.  The  prog- 
ress of  society  must  be  measured  "  by  the  amount  and  success 
of  their  intellectual  activity."  No  discoveries  are  possible  in 
ethics;  the  great  body  of  moral  truths  remains  unchanged 
from  one  age  to  another,  and  all  nations  instinctively  recognize 
them.  Whatever  changes  take  place  in  the  opinions  of  men, 
or  whatever  improvements  are  effected  in  their  condition,  can- 
not be  attributed,  therefore,  to  moral  influences,  but  must  be 
due  to  the  discoveries  of  the  intellect.  To  adopt  our  author's 
own  strong  and  unqualified  language,  "  the  growth  of  Euro- 
pean civilization  is  solely  due  to  the  progress  of  knowledge, 
and  the  progress  of  knowledge  depends  on  the  number  of  truths 
which  the  human  intellect  discovers,  and  on  the  extent  to 
which  they  are  diffused." 

There  is  a  confusion  of  thought  here,  and  when  this  is  dis- 
sipated, Mr.  Buckle's  proposition  is  resolved  either  into  a  bar- 
ren truism  or  a  transparent  falsehood.  Even  if  discoveries 
were  possible  in  the  province  of  morals,  it  would  be  the  busi- 
ness of  the  intellect  to  make  them.  A  man  cannot  see  except 
by  the  use  of  his  eyes,  nor  investigate  truth  except  by  an  in- 
tellectual pi'ocess.  The  function  of  conscience,  or  the  moral 
nature  of  man,  is  entirely  different ;  it  is  not  to  separate  truth 
from  error,  but  to  regulate  conduct.  Its  office  is  monition, 
not  discovery  ;  it  is  not  so  much  a  guide  as  a  master,  for  it 
speaks,  not  to  instruct,  but  to  command.  It  is  a  mere  truism, 
then,  to  say  that  its  laws  are  the  same  yesterday,  to-day,  and 


268  THE   PHILOSOPHICAL   RADICALS  IN   ENGLAND. 

forever,  and  that  they  admit  neither  of  enlargement  nor  re- 
peal. 

But  this  is  not  Mr.  Buckle's  meaning.  He  intends  to  say, 
that  the  increased  happiness  of  a  community  and  its  progress 
in  civilization  depend  altogether  upon  the  cultivation  of  the 
intellect,  and  not  at  all  upon  the  observance  of  morality ;  — 
which  is  a  palpable  untruth,  contradicted  by  all  history. 
"  The  two  oldest,  greatest,  most  inveterate,  and  most  widely 
spread  evils  which  have  ever  been  known,"  he  tells  us,  are 
religious  persecution  and  war ;  these  have  been  constantly 
diminishing  ;  and  "  their  diminution  has  been  effected,  not  at 
all  by  moral  feelings,  nor  by  moral  teachings,  but  solely  by  the 
activity  of  the  human  intellect,  and  by  the  inventions  and  dis- 
coveries which,  in  a  long  course  of  successive  ages,  man  has 
been  able  to  make."  And  as  in  respect  to  these  two  great 
evils,  so  also  in  inferior  matters,  the  same  process  has  been 
followed,  and  the  same  law  holds.  "  The  actions  of  bad  men 
produce  only  temporary  evil,  the  actions  of  good  men  only 
temporary  good ;  and  eventually  the  good  and  the  evil  alto- 
gether subside."  They  offset  and  neutralize  each  other,  leav- 
ing the  progress  of  the  human  race  to  be  effected  solely  by  the 
discoveries  of  genius,  "  which  are  immortal  and  never  leave 
us."  He  pledges  himself  to  prove,  in  the  course  of  his  work, 
that  "  the  progress  Europe  has  made  from  barbarism  to  civil- 
ization is  entirely  due  to  its  intellectual  activity  ;  "  and  that 
the  occasional  disturbances  produced  by  moral  agencies  "  are 
but  aberrations,  which,  if  we  compare  long  periods  of  time, 
balance  each  other,  and  thus,  in  the  total  amount,  entirely 
disappear." 

And  as  morality  has  effected  nothing  for  the  human  race, 
so  religion  has  done  worse ;  it  has  been  a  positive  curse,  the 
greatest  bane  of  mankind.  Religious  persecution,  as  has  been 
stated,  has  produced  more  affliction,  has  done  more  harm,  has 
been  a  greater  obstruction  to  progress,  than  any  other  evil  — 
than  all  othor  evils  united.  This  is  the  thesis  which  nearly 
the  whole  of  Mr.  Buckle's  second  volume,  and  a  large  portion 
of  his  first,  are  designed  to  prove.  The  rise  of  scepticism,  in 
his  opinion,  is  the  first  condition  for  the  beginning  of  progress, 
for  any  improvement  in  science,  art,  civilization,  or  the  gen- 


BUCKLE'S  HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION.  269 

eral  condition  of  mankind  ;  and  religions  intolerance  is  the 
great  evil  with  which  mankind  have  had  to  contend.  An 
abstract  of  the  history  of  Spain  and  Scotland,  or  rather  a 
copious  gleaning  of  facts  from  that  history,  partial  and  one- 
sided in  the  extreme,  fills  the  second  volume,  the  sole  object 
being  to  prove  that  superstition  is  the  greatest  of  all  errors, 
and  religious  persecution  the  most  fearful  scourge,  that  man- 
kind have  ever  known.  And  the  evil  of  this  intolerance,  we 
are  specially  taught,  is  only  enhanced  by  the  purity  of  inten- 
tion and  sincerity  of  belief  of  those  who  manifest  it.  Tn  a 
moral  point  of  view,  the  motives  of  religious  persecutors  are 
unimpeachable.  "Diminish  the  sincerity,  and  you  will  dimin- 
ish the  persecution  ;  in  other  words,  by  weakening  the  virtue 
you  may  check  the  evil."  Thus  a  double  point  is  made 
against  both  morality  and  religion ;  they  are  two  poisons 
which  enhance  and  stimulate  each  other.  Fortunately,  the 
intellectual  progress  of  the  race  is  fast  conquering  both  evils, 
or  leaving  them  behind  in  the  great  march  of  civilization. 
Discoveries  and  inventions,  chemistry  and  physiology,  political 
economy  and  improved  means  of  locomotion,  gunpowder,  the 
steam-engine,  and  the  magnetic  telegraph,  —  these  are  at  once 
the  agents  and  the  results  of  human  progress ;  these  wage 
unceasing  war  against  credulity  and  intolerance,  and  ulti- 
mately triumph  over  them.  The  discoveries  of  great  men 
contain  those  eternal  truths  which  "  outlive  the  struggles  of 
rival  creeds,  and  witness  the  decay  of  successive  religions.  All 
these  have  their  different  measures  and  their  different  stand- 
ards ;  one  set  of  opinions  for  one  age,  another  set  for  another. 
They  pa-ss  away  like  a  dream  ;  they  are  as  the  fabric  of  a 
vision,  which  leaves  not  a  rack  behind." 

And  these  are  the  results  of  Mr.  Buckle's  study  of  the  his- 
tory of  civilization  I  These  are  the  conclusions  to  which  he 
has  been  led  by  studying  the  laws  of  the  human  mind,  not  ac- 
cording to  the  usual  method  of  the  psychologist,  the  moralist, 
and  the  theist,  through  the  testimony  of  consciousness,  —  "  not 
simply  as  they  appear  in  the  mind  of  the  individual  observer, 
but  as  they  appear  in  the  actions  of  mankind  at  large  ;  " 
that  is,  as  they  appear  in  the  evidence  of  statistics,  and  other 
recorded  facts  of  history  and  science  !  This  improved  method 


270  THE   PHILOSOPHICAL   RADICALS   IN   ENGLAND. 

is  not  original  with  him  ;  it  is  the  method  of  Comte,  Mill, 
and  other  Positivists  and  radical  philosophers.  It  is  the  nec- 
essary procedure  of  those  who  overlook  or  contemn  the  testi- 
mony of  consciousness,  deny  the  freedom  of  the  will,  and  ex- 
tend the  dominion  of  physical  laws  to  the  entire  exclusion  of 
the  supernatural  or  providential  element  in  human  affairs. 
We  would  do  no  injustice  to  the  present  advocate  of  these  doc- 
trines. As  nearly  as  our  limits  would  permit,  we  have  stated 
his  conclusions  in  his  own  language  ;  and  we  would  refer  any 
who  may  doubt  the  correctness  of  the  outline  to  his  own  fuller 
statement  of  them  in  the  fourth  chapter  of  his  first  volume. 

Not  without  reason,  then,  have  we  described  him  as  a  pupil 
and  imitator  of  Hobbes,  though  the  philosopher  of  Malmes- 
bury  was  the  unblushing  advocate  of  despotism  in  politics,  as 
well  as  of  materialism  in  philosophy,  and  selfishness  in  morals, 
while  Mr.  Buckle  fiercely  asserts  the  rights  of  individuals 
against  any  interference  or  any  claim  of  authority  by  church 
or  state.  But  he  manifests  the  same  arrogant  contempt  as  his 
great  predecessor  for  the  best  sympathies  and  feelings  of  man- 
kind. Extremes  meet ;  the  absolutist  and  the  radical  start 
from  the  same  premises,  move,  by  a  common  impulse,  and 
arrive  at  what  are  essentially  the  same  conclusions.  Both 
show  the  same  inclination  for  paradox,  the  same  disposition 
to  fly  in  the  face  of  the  dearest  convictions  of  their  fellow-men, 
and  both  adopt  the  same  brutal  tone  of  expression  towards 
those  whose  feelings  they  outrage.  We  have  no  scruples 
about  drawing  this  parallel,  as  Mr.  Buckle  will  doubtless 
deem  himself  honored  by  the  comparison.  But  we  would 
remind  him  that  notoriety  is  not  fame,  that  recklessness  is  no 
proof  of  courage,  and  that  he  who  abjures  caution  and  sobriety 
of  manner,  and  even  a  decent  regard  for  the  feelings  of  his 
opponents,  casts  away  the  best  safeguards  of  successful  inves- 
tigation, and  does  his  utmost  to  discredit  his  own  conclusions. 

One  argument  which  he  adduces  in  favor  of  the  doctrine 
that  the  moral  feelings  of  mankind  do  not,  in  the  long  run,  aid 
their  progress  or  improve  their  condition,  is  too  characteristic 
of  the  writer  and  of  his  method  to  escape  notice.  It  is  founded 
on  the  assertion  of  the  statisticians  already  alluded  to,  that 
the  annual  amount  of  crime  in  a  country  is  reproduced,  year 


BUCKLE'S  HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION.  271 

after  year,  with  considerable  uniformity.  Then  the  moral 
feelings  of  an  individual,  he  argues,  may  exert  great  influence 
on  the  amount  of  his  own  transgressions,  but  will  not  at  all 
diminish  the  aggregate  of  crime  in  the  community  to  which 
he  belongs.  His  motives  for  well-doing,  then,  must  be  selfish  ; 
he  may  lessen  his  own  culpability,  but  he  will  not  benefit 
society,  which  must  still  contend  against  as  much  misconduct 
as  ever.  Even  though  we  may  be  conscious,  therefore,  that 
moral  principles  regulate  our  own  conduct,  "  we  have  incontro- 
vertible proof  that  they  produce  not  the  least  effect  on  man- 
kind in  the  aggregate,  or  even  on  men  in  very  large  masses." 

The  fallacy  here  is  so  transparent,  that  we  marvel  both 
at  its  escaping  detection  in  itself,  and  at  its  failing  to  disclose 
the  erroneousness,  and  even  the  absurdity,  of  the  method  of 
reasoning  which  led  to  it.  Society  is  nothing  but  an  aggre- 
gate of  individuals,  and  the  whole  amount  of  crime  regis- 
tered in  a  year  is  but  the  sum  total  of  the  separate  offences 
committed  within  that  period.  He  who  overcomes  tempta- 
tion but  in  a  single  instance  lessens  that  sum  by  unity ;  and 
this  is  a  positive  gain  to  the  community,  and  a  gain  which  is 
greater  or  less  in  proportion  to  the  heinousness  of  the  offence 
in  question,  and  not  in  proportion  to  the  number  of  other 
crimes  with  which  it  is  compared.  Mr.  Buckle's  mode  of 
reducing  the  magnitude  of  this  gain  to  insignificance,  through 
"  the  precaution  of  studying  social  phenomena  for  a  period 
sufficiently  long  and  on  a  scale  sufficiently  great,"  —  that  is, 
by  counting  it  only  as  one  case  out  of  a  thousand,  or  one  out 
of  a  million,  —  is  precisely  akin  to  the  folly  of  a  child,  who 
should  attempt  to  lessen  his  estimate  of  the  size  of  an  obstacle 
by  regarding  it  from  so  great  a  distance  that  the  mountain 
would  seem  to  the  eye  no  larger  than  a  mole-hill.  It  is  his 
estimate  of  the  magnitude,  and  not  the  magnitude  itself, 
which  he  lessens  by  this  ingenious  folly,  this  attempt  at  self- 
deception.  The  statistical  method,  as  we  have  already  hinted, 
is  a  means,  not  of  avoiding,  but  of  hiding  errors,  by  setting 
them  off  one  against  another.  It  is  a  compensation  of  oppo- 
site blunders. 

But  the  great  fallacy  which  underlies  the  whole  of  Mr. 
Buckle's  doctrine  and  argument  arises  from  the  vagueness 


272  THE   PHILOSOPHICAL   RADICALS   IN   ENGLAND. 

«•» 

and  uncertainty  in  his  use  of  the  word  civilization.  It  is  with 
good  reason  that  he  has  omitted,  as  we  have  already  men- 
tioned, to. define  what  that  is  of  which  he  has  attempted  to 
write  the  history.  Had  he  even  attempted  such  a  definition, 
he  must  have  recognized  the  absurdity  of  his  theory.  And 
what  an  omission  !  It  is  as  if  the  author  of  a  new  system 
of  loo-ic,  or  a  new  scheme  of  philosophy,  should  execute  half 
of  his  work  before  settling  in  his  own  mind,  or  informing  his 
readers,  what  logic  or  philosophy  is.  His  edifice  is  far  ad- 
vanced towards  completion,  but  he  has  forgotten  to  lay  its 
foundation.  The  only  word  which  he  uses  as  synonymous 
with  Civilization  is  "Progress,"  a  term  which  is  still  more 
loose  and  uncertain  in  its  signification.  He  means,  though 
he  does  not  directly  say  so,  the  "  Progress  of  Knowledge  ; "  and 
if  any  one  should  attempt,  by  a  large  induction  from  many 
passages  of  his  work,  to  ascertain  what  Civilization,  accord- 
ing to  Mr.  Buckle,  means,  the  answer  would  undoubtedly  be 
the  Progress  and  Diffusion  of  Knowledge.  This  is  the  as- 
sumption on  which  his  whole  theory  is  built ;  and  his  parallel 
assumption  is,  that  the  advancement  of  knowledge  constitutes, 
and  is  the  measure  of,  human  power  and  happiness. 

Thus  understood,  his  paradoxical  assertion,  that  the  culti- 
vation of  the  intellect,  and  not  of  the  conscience,  is  the  source 
and  root  of  civilization,  becomes  a  mere  truism,  even  an  iden- 
tical proposition.  Certainly,  intellect  is  the  only  means  of 
the  advancement  of  knowledge,  and  conscience  has  nothing 
to  do  with  it,  except  indirectly.  A  more  harmless  platitude 
was  never  uttered.  But  in  this  sense,  it  is  not  true  that  civili- 
zation is  the  same  thing  as  happiness,  or  the  only  means  of 
securing  happiness.  For  happiness  depends  on  the  due  regula- 
tion of  the  passions  and  the  conduct  ;  and  this  is  the  province 
of  morality  and  religion,  the  cultivation  of  the  intellect  having, 
at  the  best,  but  a  remote  and  indirect  agency  in  the  work. 
The  sorrowful  confession  of  many  a  philosopher  and  man  of 
science,  the  history  of  many  a  genius,  —  nay,  the  experience 
of  half  mankind,  —  attests  that  the  increase  of  knowledge  is 
not  necessarily  the  increase  of  happiness. 

We  now  know  how  to  construe  our  author's  oft  repeated 
assertions,  that  "  civilization  is  regulated  by  the  accumula- 


BUCKLE'S  HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION.  273 

tion  and  diffusion  of  knowledge,"  and  that  "  the  growth  of 
European  civilization  is  solely  due  to  the  progress  of  knowl- 
edge." He  is  really  identifying  the  two  elements,  which  he 
here  places  in  the  nominal  relation  of  cause  and  effect ;  he 
means  that  civilization  IS  the  progress  of  knowledge.  This 
is  merely  an  unauthorized  use  of  language,  which  constantly 
leads  the  reader  astray,  and  hides  the  author's  vagueness  of 
meaning  and  unsoundness  of  argument.  We  can  rightly  ap- 
preciate the  doctrine  and  the  reasoning  only  by  defining  at 
the  outset  what  people  generally  mean  by  Civilization. 

We  say,  then,  that  the  Civilization  of  a  community  means 
its  happiness,  so  far  as  this  is  secured  by  the  prevalence  of 
morality,  intelligence,  and  refinement  of  taste,  and  by  the  gen- 
eral enjoyment  of  the  products  of  the  fine  and  the  useful  arts. 
For  the  correctness  of  this  definition,  we  can  only  appeal. to 
the  dictionary  and  the  general  usage  of  the  best  writers. 

Taking  this  signification  of  the  word  along  with  us,  Mr. 
Buckle's  doctrine  ceases  to  be  even  plausible ;  it  is  simply 
absurd.  The  highest  degree  of  civilization  ever  attained  by 
the  ancients  —  and  it  was  a  degree  which,  in  many  respects, 
the  moderns  have  never  equalled  —  was  that  of  Athens  under 
Pericles.  But  what  did  the  knoivledge  even  of  the  wisest 
Athenians  amount  to  ?  And  of  what  discoveries  or  inventions 
could  they  boast  ?  It  is  little  to  say,  that  a  pupil  in  one  of 
our  high  schools  knows  vastly  more  than  the  best  of  them 
did.  In  their  times,  not  one  of  the  physical  sciences  had 
begun  to  unroll  the  secrets  of  nature.  They  knew  a  little 
geometry,  a  very  little  astronomy  and  natural  history  ;  as  to 
their  acquisitions  or  speculations  in  logic,  rhetoric,  ethics, 
and  metaphysics,  Mr.  Buckle  will  hardly  dignify  these  with 
the  name  of  science.  But  why  need  we  state  the  case  in  our 
own  language,  when  we  can  borrow  the  weighty  words  of  one 
who  was  the  greatest  scholar,  and  one  of  the  greatest  thinkers, 
of  the  present  century  ? 

"  Every  learner  in  science,"  says  Sir  William  Hamilton,  "  is  now 
familiar  with  more  truths  than  Aristotle  or  Plato  ever  dreamt  of 
knowing  ;  yet,  compared  with  the  Stagirite  or  the  Athenian,  how  few, 
even  of  the  masters  of  modern  science,  rank  higher  than  intellectual 
barbarians!  Ancient  Greece  and  modern  Europe  prove,  indeed,  that 
18 


274  THE   PHILOSOPHICAL   RADICALS   IN   ENGLAND. 

'  the  march  of  intellect '  is  no  inseparable  concomitant  of  '  the  march 
of  science  ; '  that  the  cultivation  of  the  individual  is  not  to  be  rashly 
confounded  with  the  progress  of  the  species." 

The  brightest  period  in  the  history  of  Roman  civilization, 
the  age  of  Augustus,  ranks  much  below  the  age  of  Pericles, 
simply  because  morality  and  philosophy  had  declined,  both 
in  the  schools  and  in  their  influence  on  society.  In  ethics 
and  philosophy,  Cicero  was  but  a  feeble  copyist  and  trans- 
lator of  his  Greek  teachers,  and  his  is  the  only  name  that 
deserves  mention.  The  fire  of  patriotism  had  burnt  out,  and 
the  standard  of  morality,  both  in  public  and  private  life,  had 
fallen  so  low  as  to  threaten  society  itself,  not  so  much  with 
dissolution,  as  with  putrescence.  Under  the  second  and  third 
Emperors,  at  least,  if  not  under  the  first,  the  only  motto  for 
those  who  could  boast  either  of  patrician  blood  or  of  mental 
culture  seemed  to  be,  "  Let  us  eat  and  drink,  for  to-morrow  we 
die."  Among  the  upper  and  middle  classes,  even  the  love  of 
offspring  had  been  overpowered  by  the  love  of  vice.  Popula- 
tion rapidly  declined.  Patricians  disowned  or  gave  away  their 
children,  if  they  had  any,  willed  their  property  to  strangers, 
and,  after  leading  a  life  of  extreme  licentiousness  and  effem- 
inacy, showed  some  remains  of  the  old  Roman  spirit  only  in 
the  cheerfulness  and  alacrity  with  which  they  opened  their 
veins,  or  took  poison,  after  they  had  been  denounced  to  the 
Emperor.  Satire  was  the  only  branch  of  poetry  which  the 
Romans  may  be  said  to  have  created,  and  in  which  they 
really  excelled  ;  for  satire  alone  had  a  legitimate  theme,  and 
abundant  materials  for  its  work.  In  Horace  and  Juvenal,  the 
laughing  and  the  indignant  satirist,  we  find  such  pictures  as 
literature  nowhere  else  affords  of  a  civilization  which  had  be- 
come thoroughly  corrupt  and  debased, —  which  had  really 
ceased  to  be  civilization,  as  it  had  rotted  in  its  own  vices. 
There  was  some  reaction  under  Trajan  and  the  Antonines, 
caused  partly  by  the  vigorous  rule  and  stoical  morality  of 
these  Emperors,  and  partly  by  the  influence  of  Christianity, 
which  had  begun  to  pervade  the  middle  and  lower  classes,  and 
was  working  from  them  upward.  But  the  reaction  was  short- 
lived, as  no  extraneous  causes  could  check  a  decline  that  had 
already  become  so  marked  and  proceeded  so  far.  Christianity 


BUCKLE'S  HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION.  275 

found  its  proper  work  in  taming  the  ferocity  and  modelling 
the  characters  of  the  rude  barbarians  from  the  North,  who 
trampled  out  the  last  vestiges  of  Roman  power  and  civiliza- 
tion. 

Yet,  from  Pericles  to  Nero,  it  cannot  be  denied  that  mere 
knoivledge  had  increased.  Archimedes  and  Hipparchus  had 
made  important  additions  to  physical  science.  The  Julian  ref- 
ormation of  the  calendar  was  a  considerable  step  in  advance. 
There  were  writers  of  some  note  in  natural  history,  agricul- 
ture, and  architecture.  According  to  Mr.  Buckle's  mode  of 
judging,  it  cannot  be  denied  that  the  world  had  made  prog- 
ress, —  that  Pliny  and  Seneca  knew  more  than  Plato  or  Aris- 
totle. We  have  learned  from  Herculaneum  and  Pompeii,  that 
the  Romans  had  made  great  advances  in  the  useful  arts,  for 
their  houses  were  furnished  with  many  conveniences  and  lux- 
uries which  the  Athenians  in  their  palmiest  days  had  never 
dreamed  of.  But  humanity  had  little  reason  to  boast  itself  of 
this  "  march  of  science  ;  "  for  not  even  Mr.  Buckle  will  dare  to 
deny,  in  this  instance  at  least,  that  the  advancement  of  knowl- 
edge was  accompanied  by  a  woful  decline  of  every  element 
that  constitutes  true  civilization. 

Coming  down  to  modern  times,  we  find  still  more  abundant 
means  of  refuting  the  paradoxical  and  debasing  doctrine  of 
this  book.  So  far  from  its  being  true  "  that  the  growth  of 
European  civilization  is  solely  due  to  the  progress  of  knowl- 
edge, and  that  the  progress  of  knowledge  depends  on  the  num- 
ber of  truths  which  the  human  intellect  discovers,  and  on  the 
extent  to  which  they  are  diffused,"  while  morality  and  relig- 
ion are  either  of  no  account  or  positively  injurious,  —  so  far, 
we  say,  is  this  humiliating  assertion  from  the  truth,  that  all 
history  proves  precisely  the  reverse.  The  great  agents  and 
tokens  of  modern  civilization  are  those  institutions  of  benefi- 
cence, those  reforms  of  old  abuses,  vices,  and  crimes,  and  that 
amelioration  of  legal  codes  and  private  manners,  which  have 
added  most  to  the  happiness  of  the  human  race,  and  which  are 
directly  and  undeniably  traceable  to  the  influence  of  morality 
and  religion  ;  while  the  mere  discovery  of  new  truths,  the  en- 
larged boundaries  of  science,  and  the  triumphs  of  intellect, 
have  had  little  or  no  share  in  proilucing  them.  This  is  our 


276  THE   PHILOSOPHICAL    RADICALS   IN  ENGLAND. 

thesis,  and  it  has  at  least  this  advantage  over  Mr.  Buckle's, 
that  it  is  one  which  we  are  not  ashamed  to  avow  and  defend ; 
while  he  is  driven  to  the  humiliating  acknowledgment,  that 
his  "conclusions  are  no  doubt  very  unpalatable ;"  that  they  are 
even  "  peculiarly  offensive  ;"  and  the  only  apology  he  can  offer 
is  the  cold-blooded  one,  that  "  the  unpleasantness  of  a  state- 
ment is  hardly  to  be  considered  a  proof  of  its  falsity." 

We  say,  then,  that  hospitals,  public  schools,  and  alms- 
houses,  —  the  support  of  the  poor  and  the  instruction  of  the 
ignorant, — the  amelioration  of  prisons,  the  abolition  of  the 
slave-trade,  the  humane  treatment  of  prisoners  of  war,  and 
the  growing  disuse  of  brutal  sports,  are  the  chief  features  of 
difference  between  barbarous  and  civilized  nations  at  the  pres- 
ent day ;  and  that  for  all  of  them  we  are  indebted  to  the 
increased  cultivation  of  the  moral  feelings,  to  the  greater  ac- 
tivity of  conscience,  and  —  we  will  not  be  deterred  by  Mr. 
Buckle's  sneers  from  adding  —  to  pulpits,  priests,  and  ser- 
mons. If  he  denies  this  assertion,  let  him  point  out  any  na- 
tion upon  earth  before  the  Christian  era,  or  any  barbarous  or 
unconverted  nation  of  the  present  day,  in  which  such  institu- 
tions have  been  erected,  such  efforts  made,  and  such  improve- 
ments effected,  by  the  spontaneous  concurrence  of  government 
and  people.  If  any  instances  can  be  mentioned,  and  they 
must  be  few  and  weak,  they  are  found  probably  among  the 
Mohammedans,  the  better  part  of  whose  morality  and  human- 
ity, it  will  be  generally  acknowledged,  is  an  aftergrowth  and 
a  plagiarism  from  the  Jewish  or  Christian  Scriptures.  Mod- 
ern civilization  is  distinguished  from  ancient  chiefly  by  an  in- 
creased tenderness  for  human  life,  and  an  increased  anxiety  to 
relieve  human  suffering.  It  is  not  that  men  did  not  Iff  ore 
know  how  to  spare  or  to  pity.  It  is  not  that  the  progress  of 
discovery  and  invention  has  now  first  enabled  us,  or  taught  us 
how,  to  be  merciful  and  charitable.  In  earlier  times,  power 
and  intellect  were  not  wanting ;  but  will,  the  attempt,  was 
never  made.  We  would  not  be  unjust  to  Science  :  she  has 
done  much  as  the  handmaid  of  morality  and  religion.  She  has 
rendered  asylums  for  the  poor,  the  sick,  the  maimed,  the  blind, 
the  deaf  and  dumb,  more  efficient ;  but  she  never  originated 
them.  She  has  been  often  the  hired,  often  the  volunteer, 


BUCKLE'S  HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION.  277 

servant  of  charity.  But  in  all  her  proper  and  peculiar  work, 
no  one  will  deny  that  the  pride  of  intellect  and  the  desire  of 
reputation  have  been  added  to  the  love  of  knowledge  as  her 
motives. 

We  claim  all  these  triumphs  of  modern  civilization  for  mo- 
rality, first  stimulated  and  rendered  active  and  efficient  —  Mr. 
Buckle  will  not  allow  us  to  say  first  discovered — by  the 
Christian  religion.  We  claim  them  for  the  only  gospel  that 
was  specially,  and  by  its  Founder,  "  preached  to  the  poor ;  " 
whose  first  precept  is,  "  Love  your  enemies;"  whose  first  ben- 
edictions fell  on  those  "  that  mourn,"  on  "  the  merciful,"  and 
"the  pure  in  heart;"  and  whose  first  caution  is,  that  "  when 
thou  doest  alms,  let  not  thy  left  hand  know  what  thy  right 
hand  doeth."  Mr.  Buckle  says,  that  these  and  similar  dog- 
mas "have  been  known  for  thousands  of  years;  "  and  "  that 
the  systems  of  morals  propounded  in  the  New  Testament  con- 
tained no  maxim  which  had  not  been  previously  enunciated ; 
and  that  some  of  the  most  beautiful  passages  in  the  Apostolic 
writings  are  quotations  from  Pagan  authors,  is  well  known  to 
to  every  scholar."  As  the  single  brief  citation,  a  part  of  one 
line,  which  St.  Paul  made  from  Aratus  in  his  speech  at  Mars 
Hill,  is  a  very  insufficient  foundation  for  this  last  broad  asser 
tion,  we  are  compelled  to  believe  that  our  author  has  made 
some  discoveries  in  the  Apostolic  Avritings  which  are  not 
"•  known  to'1  every  scholar,"  or  indeed  to  any  one  except  him- 
self. And  against  the  former  statement  we  place  the  author- 
ity of  one  of  the  greatest  metaphysicians  of  modern  times,  and 
one  who  was  certainly  not  so  much  a  friend,  as  an  opponent, 
of  the  Christian  religion.  In  his  "Religion  within  the  Limits 
of  mere  Reason,"  Kant  cites  these  and  other  moral  precepts, 
taken  chiefly  from  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount,  "  as  proofs  of 
the  divine  mission  "  of  Him  who  uttered  them,  and  of  "  the 
honor  due  to  Him  as  founder  of  the  first  true  church/'  It  is 
idle  to  say  that  isolated  hints  of  one  or  more  of  them,  taken 
separately,  can  be  found  here  and  there,  after  great  search,  in 
the  writings  of  some  Pasjan  moralists.  He  who  first  announced 

o  o 

them  collectively,  in  one  brief  discourse,  not  as  the  fruits  of 
ethical  disquisition,  but  as  a  message  from  God  to  man,  is 
their  true  author,  their  original  promulgator  and  voucher. 


278  THE   PHILOSOPHICAL   RADICALS   IN   ENGLAND. 

Let  him  who  doubts  or  denies  this  assertion  point  to  the  first 
heathen  nation  that  has  reduced  them  to  practice  in  such  in- 
stitutions and  endeavors  as  we  have  mentioned,  or  to  the  first 
Christian  nation  that  has  not  done  this. 

We  deny  that  the  mere  advancement  of  science,  the  dis- 
covery of  new  facts  and  truths,  whether  physical  or  purely 
speculative,  however  gratifying  to  the  pride  of  intellect  and 
honorable  to  the  genius  of  the  discoverer,  has  had  any  but  an 
indirect  and  comparatively  feeble  influence  on  the  progress  of 
civilization.  Such  discoveries  are  the  effects,  not  the  causes, 
of  that  "  prevalence  of  morality,  intelligence,  and  refinement 
of  taste,"  in  which,  as  we  have  said,  true  civilization  consists. 
Now,  the  only  two  of  these  elements  which  can  come  into 
question  here,  intelligence  and  refinement,  whether  of  an  in- 
individual  or  a  nation,  are  not  increased  or  heightened  in  pro- 
portion to  the  number  of  truths  known  or  facts  discovered. 
Not  to  recur  to  the  instance,  already  given,  of  the  Athenians 
in  their  palmiest  days,  as  compared  with  any  nation  or  age  for 
fifteen  centuries  after  the  glory  of  Athens  had  departed,  we 
will  take  what  is,  so  far  as  discovery  is  concerned,  the  bright- 
est epoch  of  modern  times.  This  is  unquestionably  the  age  of 
Newton  and  Leibnitz,  of  Boyle,  Hooke,  Huyghens,  Von  Guer- 
icke,  Cassini,  Pascal,  Wren,  and  a  crowd  of  other  illustrious 
names.  Designated  by  its  principal  sovereigns,  it  is  the  age 
of  Charles  II.,  Louis  XIV.,  and  Leopold  I.  But  no  English- 
man or  German  will  refer  with  pride  to  the  history  of  his 
country  during  this  period,  or  will  maintain  that  the  general 
civilization  of  his  people  was  then  either  at  its  height,  or  mak- 
ing more  rapid  progress  than  it  had  done  for  several  genera- 
tions before.  Generally,  it  was  an  age  of  licentious  manners 
and  feeble  public  spirit,  when  little  was  done  for  popular  edu- 
cation, or  to  elevate  the  condition  of  the  laboring  classes,  — 
when  courts  were  corrupt  and  the  people  enslaved.  France, 
it  is  true,  was  then  in  her  Augustan  age ;  but  her  glory  con- 
sisted in  her  literature,  not  in  her  science.  Mr.  Buckle  even 
maintains,  that  her  literary  splendor  in  those  times  was  "  the 
work  of  the  great  generation  "  that  had  just  passed  away  ;  that 
"  the  absence  in  France,  during  this  period,  not  only  of  great 
discoveries,  but  also  of  mere  practical  ingenuity,  is  certainly 


BUCKLE'S  HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION.  279 

very  striking ;  "  and,  generally,  that  "  the  age  of  Louis  XIV. 
was  an  age  of  decay:  it  was  an  age  of  misery,  intolerance,  and 
oppression  ;  it  was  an  age  of  bondage,  of  ignominy,  of  intol- 
erance." All  this  is  coarsely  exaggerated,  and  marked  by  our 
author's  usual  recklessness  of  statement  and  brutality  of  ex- 
pression. The  French  of  that  day  certainly  showed  great  re- 
finement of  taste  and  elegance  of  culture ;  and,  amidst  much 
tinsel  splendor,  they  achieved  more  than  any  other  generation 
of  their  countrymen  in  literature  and  art.  But  their  triumphs 
were  not  those  of  the  intellect,  in  the  narrower  sense  in  which 
Mr.  Buckle  uses  that  term  ;  the  physical  science  of  Paris  at 
that  time  was  an  exotic,  not  a  native  growth.  The  only  emi- 
nent astronomers  patronized  by  Louis  XIV.  were  foreigners ; 
and  France  was  full  half  a  century  behind  other  nations  of 
Europe  in  accepting  the  Newtonian  theory.  The  general  re- 
sult is,  that  the  people  of  the  most  splendid  civilization  made 
the  fewest  discoveries  ;  while  with  the  Germans,  English,  and 
Dutch,  the  case  was  precisely  the  reverse.  So,  also,  the  richest 
and  most  brilliant  civilization  of  Europe,  in  the  fifteenth  and 
sixteenth  centuries,  was  that  of  Rome,  Florence,  and  the  other 
cities  of  Italy ;  and  this,  again,  manifested  itself  chiefly  in 
literature  and  art,  and  hardly  at  all  in  scientific  inquiry,  or  the 
proinulgation  of  new  truths. 

In  fact,  great  achievements  in  science,  like  those  of  Galileo, 
Newton,  Laplace,  and  Cuvier,  do  not  early  or  easily  enter  into 
the  mass  of  familiar  truths  on  which  common  minds  are  fed, 
and  by  which  the  broad  civilization  of  a  people  or  an  age  is  af- 
fected. They  dignify,  but  they  do  not  constitute,  that  civili- 
zation, nor  give  rise  to  it.  They  remain  for  a  long  time,  if 
not  forever,  like  the  fruits  of  the  more  refined  scholarship  and 
the  processes  of  the  higher  mathematics,  the  exclusive  property 
of  a  comparatively  small  body  of  the  learned.  Art  and  litera- 
ture, morality  and  religion,  are  far  more  popular  and  diffusive 
in  their  effects  ;  they  are  cosmopolitan  and  universal,  not  con- 
fined to  any  country  or  age,  and  not  by  any  means  limited  in 
their  influence  to  the  particular  classes  by  which  they  are  spe- 
cially professed.  They  affect  the  whole  atmosphere  in  which 
all  the  people  live  and  act.  They  color  and  shape  the  na- 
tional life  and  character  in  every  vein  and  lineament.  Wealth, 


280  THE   PHILOSOPHICAL    RADICALS   IN   ENGLAND. 

public  spirit,  and  popular  education  —  both  that  which  is  dis- 
pensed in  schools,  and  that  which  is  constantly  imbibed  from 
the  whole  environment  of  institutions  and  circumstances  in 
which  a  people  are  placed  —  are  the  agencies  which  foster  and 
diffuse  these  national  blessings.  Civilization  is  not  shut  up  in 
laboratories,  scientific  academies,  or  museums  of  natural  his- 
tory, and  does  not  issue  from  them  ;  on  the  contrary,  the  most 
splendid  civilization  may  exist  where  these  means  and  appli- 
ances of  mere  physical  research  are  entii'ely  wanting. 

But  it  may  be  said  that  invention,  though  not  discovery,  is 
a  most  important  agency  in  the  accumulation  of  wealth,  and  in 
bringing  about  that  general  enjoyment  of  the  products  of  the 
fine  and  the  useful  arts,  which  we  have  admitted  to  be  one  great 
constituent  of  civilization.  So  it  is  ;  but  this  admission  makes 
nothing  for  Mr.  Buckle's  purpose,  unless  he  can  prove  that  in- 
vention is  the  natural  and  ordinary  result  of  discovery.  He 
here  falls  into  the  common  error,  of  which  even  scientific  minds 
are  not  yet  generally  disabused.  We  altogether  deny  that 
either  the  great  inventions  which  have  turned  the  course  of 
human  affairs,  or  the  minor  ones  which  have  added  so  much  to 
our  comforts  and  luxuries,  and  widened  the  enjoyment  of  them, 
are  to  be  ranked  among  the  gifts  of  science,  or  that  they  have 
been  made  generally  by  scientific  men.  As  striking  instances 
of  the  former  class,  take  gunpowder,  the  mariner's  compass, 
and  the  printing-press  ;  "  for  these  three,"  says  Bacon,  "  have 
changed  the  whole  face  and  state  of  things  throughout  the 
world,  —  the  one  in  literature,  another  in  warfare,  and  a  third 
in  navigation,  —  wThence  have  followed  innumerable  changes  ; 
insomuch  that  no  empire,  no  sect,  no  star,  seems  to  have  exerted 
greater  power  and  influence  in  human  affairs  than  these  me- 
chanical inventions."  But  Bacon  himself  notices  the  curious 
fact,  that  the  origin  of  all  three,  though  recent  in  his  day,  is 
"obscure  and  inglorious."  In  fact,  two  of  them  were  mere 
lucky  accidents,  made  we  know  not  positively  where  or  by 
whom,  certainly  not  by  any  one  of  scientific  pretensions,  as  the 
legend  which  attributes  the  invention  of  gunpowder  to  Friar 
Bacon,  or  another  monk,  Berthold  Schwarz,  is  wholly  unde- 
serving of  credit.  Printing  was  only  a  lucky  thought  which  oc- 
curred almost  simultaneously  to  two  or  three  rude  mechanics. 


BUCKLE'S   HISTORY   OF   CIVILIZATION.  281 

There  was  nothing  to  put  a  person  of  scientific  habits  of  mind 
upon  the  track  of  either  invention,  nothing  to  incite  or  guide 
his  inquiry.  As  De  Maistre  says,  the  means  of  making  a  great 
discovery  generally  have  no  apparent  connection  with  that  dis- 
covery ;  and  the  illustration  which  he  gives  of  this  remark  is 
furnished  by  Lord  Bacon  himself.  If  Archimedes  and  a  dozen 
others,  equally  eminent  in  science,  had  been  asked  to  invent  an 
engine  for  beating  down  the  ramparts  of  a  city  without  coming 
within  two  or  three  hundred  yards  of  them,  they  would  have 
been  entirely  at  fault,  or  would  have  thought  only  of  some 
mode  of  improving  the  ancient  catapult.  But  there  comes 
along  an  obscure  monk,  who  says,  "  Triturate  and  mix  together 
sulphur,  saltpetre,  and  charcoal;"  —  and  the  thing  is  done. 
So,  also,  if  twenty  scientific  physicians  had  been  required,  a 
century  ago,  to  invent  some  means  of  extirpating  the  small- 
pox, they  could  not  have  hit  upon  anything  better  than  to  ask 
the  sovereigns  of  Europe  to  cause  all  their  subjects  to  be  in- 
oculated by  compulsion.  Certainly,  nothing  short  of  divina- 
tion could  have  sent  them  to  the  COWTS  for  a  solution  of  the 
problem.  Again,  wTas  it  science  that  gave  us  Peruvian  bark, 
ipecacuanha,  mercury,  or  even  sulphuric  ether  as  an  anaesthetic 
agent  ?  Or  was  it  rather  such  experimentation  as  that  of  an 
Indian  doctor  or  conjuror,  an  African  Obiman,  or  an  English 
Merry- Andrew  ?  The  only  real  question  is,  whether  such  dis- 
coveries are  due  to  what  is  called  a  lucky  chance,  or  to  that 
merciful  Providence  which,  in  ways  unseen  by  men,  often  over- 
rules folly  and  selfishness,  by  rendering  them  instruments  of 
good. 

If  we  turn  to  the  minor  inventions  which  have  aided  the  ac- 
cumulation of  wealth  and  enhanced  our  material  well-being,  we 
still  find  that  we  are  indebted  for  most  of  them  either  to  a  fort- 
unate accident,  or  to  the  practical  skill  of  some  ingenious  me- 
chanic, whose  school-education,  perhaps,  barely  enabled  him  to 
write  his  name.  After  the  workman  has  invented  the  machine 
or  the  process,  science  usually  steps  in,  and,  more  or  less  suc- 
cessfully, explains  the  nature  of  the  improvement,  points  out 
the  physical  laws  that  are  concerned  in  it,  and  often  uses  it  as 
a  guide  in  its  own  future  investigations.  Sometimes  it  is  un- 
able to  supply  even  this  poor  commentary,  and  the  process  con- 


282  THE    PHILOSOPHICAL   RADICALS   IN   ENGLAND. 

tinues  to  be  empirical  and  inexplicable.  Thus  the  mode  of 
vulcanizing  India-rubber,  one  of  vast  importance  in  the  arts, 
offers  an  insoluble  problem  to  the  chemist.  He  cannot  tell 
why  heating  and  rubbing  together  caoutchouc  and  sulphur 
should  produce  an  entirely  new  substance,  —  a  tertium  quid, 
having  other  and  far  more  valuable  properties  than  either  of 
its  ingredients.  So  in  many  of  the  processes  for  manufacturing 
iron,  the  means  have  no  apparent  connection  with  the  end  ; 
the  chemist  measures  the  results,  but  cannot  tell  how  or  why 
they  are  produced.  The  eminent  professors  of  science  who  lect- 
ured upon  the  results  of  the  Great  Exhibition  in  London  in 
1851  seemed  to  manifest  "  an  uneasy  consciousness  of  the  ex- 
tent of  the  workman's  knowledge, — almost  a  doubt  whether 
it  was  not  for  the  workman  to  teach  them,  rather  than  for 
them  to  teach  the  workman."  Dr.  Black,  one  of  the  greatest 
of  modern  chemists,  remarks,  somewhere  in  his  Lectures,  that 
most  of  the  chemical  discoveries  which  have  greatly  benefited 
the  arts  are  due  to  the  manipulations  of  skilful  operatives, 
rather  than  to  what  is  called  science  or  chemical  philosophy. 
Many  products  of  the  useful  arts  were  obtained  by  the  ancients 
in  as  great  perfection  as  by  men  of  our  own  day;  the  article 
has  profited  nothing  by  the  experience  and  the  science  of  two 
thousand  years.  One  of  the  lecturers  just  referred  to  says,  "  If 
Simon,  the  tanner  of  Joppa,  had  been  able  to  send  leather  to 
the  Exhibition,  no  doubt  he  would  have  carried  off  a  medal." 

The  inventors  of  the  spinning-jenny  were  a  Birmingham 
mechanic,  a  common  laborer,  and  a  barber's  apprentice.  Nearly 
all  of  the  improvements  in  the  steam-engine  were  made  by  un- 
educated mechanics,  and  they  were  constantly  in  advance  of 
the  science  of  their  day.  The  most  distinguished  among  them 
were  Savery,  a  head  miner  ;  Newcomen,  a  blacksmith ;  Cawley, 
a  glazier  ;  and  Humphrey  Potter,  an  idle  little  boy.  Watt's 
modifications  of  the  machine  have  greater  scientific  pretensions  ; 
but  he  was  only  a  half-taught  instrument-maker  when  he  con- 
trived them,  and  many  of  them  have  now  gone  out  of  use,  as 
practical  men  have  found  the  engine  which  was  employed  be- 
fore his  day  to  be  not  only  more  simple,  but  more  efficient  and 
economical.  Fitch,  Fulton,  and  Hulls  divide  between  them 
the  honors  of  steam  navigation,  neither  of  them  having  any 
scientific  attainments  to  boast  of. 


BUCKLE'S  HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION.  283 

Mr.  Buckle  attributes  to  the  progress  of  knowledge  the  dim- 
inution of  "  the  two  greatest  evils  known  to  mankind,"  — 
religious  persecution  and  the  practice  of  war.  Morality  and 
religion,  he  affirms,  have  nursed  and  exasperated  the  former, 
and  done  nothing  towards  diminishing  the  latter  ;  while  the 
influence  of  intellectual  discoveries  lias  vanquished  both.  We 
join  issue  with  him  on  all  these  points.  Both  the  evils  in 
question  proceed  from  the  passions  rather  than  the  judgment. 
Men  need  to  be  calmed  and  pacified,  not  to  be  instructed  or 
argued  with,  in  order  to  induce  them  to  remain  at  peace  or  to 
tolerate  difference  of  opinion.  It  is  a  sentiment  rather  than 
a  conviction,  — an  instinctive  recoil  of  our  moral  and  humane 
feelings,  instead  of  a  perception  of  new  truths,  —  which  has 
stopped  the  practice  of  torture,  whether  inflicted  for  political 
or  ecclesiastical  purposes.  The  rack  and  the  thumb-screw 
have  gone  out  of  use,  because  the  increased  humanity  of  these 
later  times  shuddered  at  the  very  sight  of  them  ;  and  the  bit- 
terness of  religious  disputes  has  in  great  measure  ceased,  be- 
cause men  now  think  less  of  the  dogmas,  and  more  of  the 
practice,  of  Christianity.  For  a  century  after  the  Reforma- 
tion, religious  persecution  was  rife,  as  the  angry  feelings  con- 
sequent on  that  great  schism  raged  .and  were  embittered  by 
the  political  changes  that  grew  out  of  it,  and  because  men 
were  cruel.  As  the  strife  cooled,  and  experience  showed  the 
inutility  of  coercive  measures,  the  voice  of  humanity  and  the 
mild  precepts  of  the  Gospel  were  again  heard  and  respected. 
Manners  were  softened,  and  men  ceased  to  persecute  one 
another  under  the  same  impulses  and  feelings  which  led  them 
to  improve  prisons,  erect  almshouses  and  hospitals,  abolish 
the  slave-trade,  and  send  out  missions  to  the  heathen.  Mere 
science,  the  mere  progress  of  discovery  and  invention,  con- 
tributed as  little  to  this  result  as  to  the  first  promulgation  of 
Christianity.  It  is  impossible  to  see  how  it  should  have  had 
any  effect  on  either. 

As  to  the  practice  of  war,  Mr.  Buckle  hazarded  his  assertion 
of  its  rapid  decline  a  little  too  soon.  Writing  in  18-55,  he 
says  :  "  It  is  highly  characteristic  of  the  actual  condition  of 
society,  that  a  peace  of  unexampled  length  should  have  been 
broken,  not  as  former  peaces  were  broken,  by  a  quarrel  be- 


284  THE   PHILOSOPHICAL   RADICALS   IN   ENGLAND. 

tween  two  civilized  nations,  but  by  the  encroachments  of  the 
uncivilized  Russians  on  the  still  more  uncivilized  Turks." 
This  is  an  ingenious  statement  of  the  case,  made  to  conceal 
the  fact,  known  to  all  the  world,  that  Turkey  was  only  a  nomi- 
nal partner  in  the  strife,  only  a  pretext  for  it,  and  that  the 
real  contest  was  between  France  and  England,  two  of  the  most 
civilized  nations  on  the  earth,  on  the  one  hand,  and  Russia  on 
the  other,  the  prize  for  the  victor  being  the  possession  of  Con- 
stantinople. "  Russia  is  a  warlike  country,"  we  are  told,  "  not 
because  the  inhabitants  are  immoral,  but  because  they  are  un- 
intellectual."  But  the  inhabitants  of  Russia,  taken  as  a  mass, 
have  no  more  voice  or  influence  in  determining  between  war 
and  peace,  than  they  have  in  guiding  the  course  of  the  planets. 
The  sovereign,  the  nobility,  and  the  higher  officers  of  the 
army,  made  the  war ;  and  these  are  as  civilized,  as  enlight- 
ened, as  "intellectual,"  —  to  copy  our  author's  pet  phrase, — 
as  any  court  in  Europe. 

And  as  to  the  decline  of  war,  what  has  been  the  history  of 
the  ten  years  which  followed  what  our  author  calls  the  forty 
years  of  peace,  1815-1855,  —  a  peace  broken  only  by  a  war  in 
Afghanistan,  one  in  Scinde,  one  in  China,  one  in  Mexico,  one 
in  Holstein,  one  in  Hungary,  two  in  North  Italy,  one  in  Rome, 
and  about  half  a  dozen  revolutions,  attended  with  more  or 
less  bloodshed,  in  the  most  civilized  nations  of  Europe.  The 
last  ten  years  [before  1865]  have  witnessed  the  Crimean  war, 
the  war  of  the  Indian  mutiny,  a  second  war  in  China,  the 
war  of  France,  Sardinia,  and  Austria  in  Lombardy,  Gari- 
baldi's war  in  Sicily,  Sardinia's  conquest  of  Naples  and  the 
Roman  provinces,  and  the  fearful  civil  war  which  raged  in 
our  own  unhappy  country.  And  at  the  present  moment,  also, 
France  and  England  are  vying  with  each  other  in  prepara- 
tions for  war  on  the  largest  scale,  and  a  terrible  contest  is 

O  ' 

impending  in  Hungary  and  Venetia.  The  decline  of  war  ! 
Search  the  annals  of  the  world,  and  we  doubt  if  a  period  of 
equal  length  can  be  found  which  has  witnessed  so  terrible  an 
outbreak  of  the  warlike  spirit  as  that  which  has  characterized 
the  last  twenty  years  ending  in  1865.  Terrible  as  the  con- 
test was  which  terminated  in  1815,  it  was,  in  the  main,  a 
struggle  of  all  Europe  against  one  man. 


BUCKLE'S  HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION.  285 

Mr.  Buckle  attributes  his  fancied  decay  of  the  desire  for 
war  to  the  march  of  intellect  generally,  but  specially  to  the 
invention  of  gunpowder,  the  discoveries  made  by  political 
economy,  and  the  improved  means  of  locomotion.  Now, 
gunpowder  came  into  general  use  about  four  centuries  ago ; 
and  during  this  time  it  may  well  be  doubted  if  there  have 
been  fewer  wars,  or  less  bloodshed,  than  in  the  four  centuries 
immediately  preceding.  Economical  science  has  not  discov- 
ered a  single  truth  which  tends  to  increase  the  desire  for 
peace  ;  it  has  merely  furnished  some  additional  illustrations 
of  the  costliness  of  war,  which  would  have  more  effect  if  na- 
tions fought  from  motives  of  interest,  and  not  from  considera- 
tions of  honor,  jealousy,  anger,  revenge,  and  other  turbulent 
passions.  No  further  proof  was  needed  that  war  is  always  a 
costly,  often  a  ruinous,  expedient.  The  quarrels  of  nations, 
like  those  of  individuals,  grow  out  of  their  ill-regulated  pas- 
sions ;  and  these  can  be  checked  and  restrained,  not  by  con- 
siderations addressed  to  the  intellect,  but,  if  at  all,  by  the 
teachings  of  morality  and  religion.  These  last  have  greatly 
humanized  war  ;  they  have  ameliorated  the  fate  of  captives, 
forbidden  the  use  of  poison  and  other  savage  expedients,  pro- 
tected the  property  and  lives  of  non-combatants  on  land,  and 
are  on  the  point  of  putting  an  end  to  privateering,  which  is 
only  another  name  for  piracy,  at  sea.  And  this  is  all  that  is 
possible,  until  mankind  have  become,  not  wiser,  but  better. 
Never  was  a  war  more  obviously  and  ruinously  destructive  of 
all  public  and  private  interest  than  that  into  which  the  South- 
ern States  of  this  Union  blindly  plunged.  But  to  oppose  the 
madness  of  Secession  by  considerations  drawn  from  political 
economy  or  constitutional  law  is  like  preaching  to  a  tornado. 
The  tempest  must  blow  itself  out.  Only  when  the  wind  has 
lulled  can  the  voice  of  reason  or  the  whispers  of  conscience  be 
heard. 

But  the  rambling  and  desultory  character  of  Mr.  Buckle's 
work  has  protracted  the  task  of  following  him,  and  our  re- 
marks are  already  extended  to  undue  length,  before  a  tithe  of 
his  errors  and  fallacies  have  been  exposed  and  refuted.  We 
have  dwelt  mainly  upon  the  principles  on  which  his  History  is 
based,  as  an  attempt  to  trace  their  application  in  detail  would 


286  THE   PHILOSOPHICAL   RADICALS   IN   ENGLAND. 

far  exceed  our  limits.  And  yet  the  absurdity  of  the  conclu- 
sions to  which  he  is  led  furnishes,  perhaps,  the  best  proof  of 
the  erroneousness  of  his  method  and  the  falsity  of  his  prem- 
ises. The  whole  of  his  second  volume  is  devoted  to  an  elabo- 
rate examination  of  the  history  of  Spain  and  of  Scotland,  in 
the  hope  of  proving  that  superstition  is  always  rife  where  vol- 
canoes and  earthquakes  are  common  ;  —  that,  in  fact,  it  owes 
its  origin  to  these  and  other  startling  phenomena  of  nature, 
and  that  it  can  never  be  exposed  and  put  down  by  the  employ- 
ment of  the  deductive  method  of  reasoning.  This  is  rather  a 
meagre  result  of  an  inquiry  extending  so  far,  and  conducted 
with  so  much  pretension.  And,  as  a  doctrine,  it  is  simply 
ludicrous.  Never  did  a  poor  pedant,  bitten  with  the  love  of 
theorizing,  ride  so  far  afield,  in  order  to  bring  home  a  paltry 
and  absurd  conclusion.  We  should  almost  suspect  the  sanity 
of  one  who  seriously  entertained  it.  If  it  were  true,  the  in- 
habitants of  Iceland,  a  country  surpassing  every  other  on  the 
globe  in  the  grandeur  and  striking  character  of  its  physical 
phenomena,  made  inaccessible  by  enormous  ice-fields  for  most 
of  the  year,  often  shaken  by  terrible  earthquakes,  mailed  in 
sheets  of  lava  and  studded  with  active  volcanoes,  ought  to  be 
the  most  superstitious  race  on  earth.  Unfortunately  for  Mr. 
Buckle's  theory,  they  happen  to  be  a  peculiarly  sober,  indus- 
trious, intellectual,  well  -  educated,  Christian  people,  —  cer- 
tainly much  less  superstitious  than  the  inhabitants  of  the  vast 
sun-scorched  plains  of  Hindostan,  where  nature  offers  only  a 
wearisome  monotony  to  the  beholder.  Again,  Scotland  is 
troubled  neither  by  earthquakes  nor  volcanoes.  True,  it  has 
mists,  and  mountains,  and  severe  winters,  in  which  Mr. 
Buckle's  theory,  faute  de  mieux,  takes  refuge  ;  but  its  near 
neighbor,  Norway,  has  precisely  the  same  characteristics,  and 
the  Norwegians  are  not  peculiarly  superstitious. 

Then  the  elaborate  attempt  to  prove  that  science  in  Scotland 
has  made  an  excessive  use  of  the  deductive  method  is  an  utter 
failure.  Adam  Smith  did  not  make  half  as  much  use  of  this 
kind  of  reasoning  as  Malthus  and  Ricardo  did ;  indeed,  it  is 
chiefly  owing  to  the  latter,  an  English  Jew,  that  English  polit- 
ical economy  has  become  a  deductive  science.  As  a  speculatist, 
Hume  makes  more  use  of  facts  and  less  of  abstract  reasoning 


BUCKLE'S  HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION.  287 

than  Hobbes  ;  the  latter  is  a  system-maker,  and  the  former  a 
destroyer  of  systems.  Leslie,  as  a  writer  on  heat,  relies  much 
more  on  experimentation  and  induction  than  Fourier.  In 
chemistry,  as  compared  with  Dalton,  Lavoisier,  or  Davy,  Dr. 
Black  must  be  regarded  as  eminently  an  inductive  philosopher. 
But  enough  of  details,  in  which  the  task  of  exposing  Mr. 
Buckle's  blunders  would  be  endless.  We  have  spoken  with 
freedom  and  severity  of  his  work,  because  its  tone  and  ten- 
dency are  bad.  With  considerable  merits  of  literary  execu- 
tion, it  is  characterized  in  a  remarkable  degree  by  arrogant 
pretensions,  a  dogmatic  spirit,  coarseness  of  expression,  and  a 
contemptuous  disregard  of  the  feelings  and  opinions  which  a 
vast  majority  of  the  author's  countrymen  hold  sacred.  Under 
the  guise  of  a  history,  its  only  aim  is  to  teach  the  preconceived 
conclusions  of  a  false  and  debasing  philosophy.  If  these  con- 
clusions were  sound,  man  would  be  an  animated  machine, 
not  accountable  for  his  actions,  and  without  either  hopes  or 
fears  extending  beyond  this  brief  sphere  of  earthly  existence. 
Rashness  of  assertion  and  inconsequence  of  reasoning  are 
what  we  expected  to  find  in  the  statement  and  defence  of  such 
doctrines  ;  and  in  this  expectation  we  have  not  been  disap- 
pointed. 


JOHN  S.   MILL'S   EXAMINATION  OF 
SIR  WILLIAM   HAMILTON'S   PHILOSOPHY. 

FROM    THE    AMERICAN     PRESBYTERIAN    REVIEW     FOR    APRIL     AND   JULY,  1869. 

INDIRECTLY,  Mr  Mill's  "  Examination  of  Sir  W.  Hamilton's 
Philosophy  "  has  been  of  great  service  to  metaphysical  science. 
It  has  stimulated  inquiry  and  discussion,  and  given  a  fresh 
interest  to  the  investigation  of  old  problems.  Through  the 
cloud  of  replies,  examinations,  and  criticisms  which  it  has 
evoked,  it  has  even  contributed  largely  to  the  establishment 
of  sound  doctrine.  After  all,  Mr.  Mill's  book  was  not  more 
an  attempted  refutation  of  Sir  W.  Hamilton's  philosophy,  than 
an  exposition  and  defence  of  his  own  system  of  metaphysics. 
He  thus  gained  a  slight  advantage  in  the  outset;  since  the  phi- 
losophy which  he  attacked  was  made  responsible,  by  impli- 
cation at  least,  for  any  errors  or  defects  discoverable  in  his  ad- 
versary's statement  of  it;  while  his  own  system  was  apparently 
strengthened  by  every  such  exposure  of  the  seeming  weakness 
of  its  rival.  But  an  advantage  of  this  sort  is  soon  lost  ;  Sir 
"\V.  Hamilton's  part  in  the  controversy  is  fast  slipping  out  of 
notice,  and  Mr.  Mill's  own  system  has  become  the  target 
against  which  most  of  the  shots  are  now  directed.  In  the  first 
edition  of  his  book,  he  appeared  as  an  assailant ;  in  the  third, 
he  stands  on  the  defensive  against  a  host  of  opponents. 

As  a  critic,  Mr.  Mill  is  disposed  to  be  just  and  candid.  We 
cannot  call  him  generous ;  for  he  ought,  before  frequently 
charging  his  opponent  with  inconsistency  and  self-contradic- 
tion, to  have  kept  more  constantly  in  view  the  fact,  which  in- 
deed is  stated  in  the  first  chapter  of  his  book,  that  Hamilton's 
system  was  given  to  the  world  only  in  fragments,  at  long  in- 
tervals, during  the  last  twenty-seven  years  of  a  busy  life  ;  and 
that  his  "  Lectures,"  the  only  approach  to  a  consecutive  ex- 
position of  it,  were  a  posthumous  publication  of  what  was 


MILL  ON  HAMILTON.  289 

probably  never  intended  by  him  for  any  other  use  than  as 
manuscript  notes,  though  they  were  printed  after  his  death 
nearly  as  they  were  first  written  by  him  some  twenty  years 
before.  Extracts  from  these  Lectures,  written  in  1836,  ought 
not  to  have  been  compared,  so  frequently  to  his  disadvantage, 
with  statements  of  his  more  matured  opinions  made  in  his 
edition  of  Reid  in  1846,  or  in  his  "Discussions,"  which 
passed  to  a  second  edition  in  1853.  Hamilton  was  eminently 
a  progressive  student  and  a  candid  and  independent  thinker, 
who  never  dreaded  the  imputation  of  a  change  of  opinion,  or 
shrank  from  modifying  a  statement  which  appeared  to  his 
calmer  thought  ill-judged  or  excessive.  His  philosophy  can  be 
fairly  estimated  only  from  his  own  latest  published  exposition 
of  it,  the  second  edition  of  his  "  Discussions  ;  "  or,  if  these  are 
compared  with  his  edition  of  Reid,  it  should  be,  not  for  the 
purpose  of  charging  him  with  inconsistent  opinions  or  in- 
coherent thought,  but  to  show  the  gradual  development  of  his 
doctrines  in  his  own  mind.  For  his  Lectures,  we  are  per- 
suaded that,  during  the  last  ten  years  of  his  life,  he  would 
have  declined  to  consider  himself  as  at  all  responsible,  since 
they  were  hurriedly  written  at  the  outset,  each  Lecture,  as  the 
Editors  tell  us,  being  "  usually  written  on  the  day,  or,  more 
properly,  on  the  evening  and  night,  preceding  its  delivery;" 
"  they  never  were  revised  by  him  with  any  view  to  publica- 
tion ;  "  and  the  manuscripts  probably  were  not  destroyed  only 
because  "he  intended  to  make  some  use  of  portions  of  them, 
which  had  not  been  incorporated  in  his  other  writings,  in  the 
promised  'Supplementary  Dissertations  to  Reid's  Works.''' 
Mr.  Mill  himself  observes,  "  one  of  the  unfairest,  though  com- 
monest, tricks  of  controversy  is  that  of  directing  the  attack  ex- 
clusively against  the  first  crude  form  of  a  doctrine."  We  do 
not  believe  Mr.  Mill  ever  consciously  violated  this  sound  princi- 
ple ;  but  if  he  had  always  remembered  it,  he  would  have  with- 
drawn, or  essentially  modified,  several  passages  in  the  third 
and  eighth  chapters  of  his  book.  No  fair  opponent  will  now 
hold  him  responsible  for  those  statements  in  his  first  edition, 
which  he  has  silently  altered,  or  avowedly  abandoned,  in  the 
third. 

It   is   curious  that  neither  Mr.   Mill  nor  any  of  his  critics 

19 


290  MILL   ON  HAMILTON. 

seems  to  have  been  aware  that  "  the  Philosophy  of  the  Con- 
ditioned "  was  Hamilton's  only  by  adoption,  since  it  is  at  least 
two  centuries  old.  There  cannot  be  a  more  distinct  and  for- 
cible exposition  of  this  Philosophy  than  is  presented  in  the 
eloquent  fragments  which  constitute  the  "  Pensees  "  of  Pascal. 
Mr.  Mill  only  skirmishes  on  the  outskirts  of  the  subject,  when 
he  makes  an  elaborate  attempt  to  prove  that  Hamilton's  dis- 
cussion of  it  confounds  three  distinct  meanings  of  the  word 
conception;  we  can  hardly  believe  that  he  is  serious  in  thus 
raising  a  dust  which  only  obscures  the  question.  And  a  simi- 
lar doubt,  whether  he  is  in  earnest,  will  intrude,  when  we  find 
him  gravely  affirming  that  "  we  cannot  conceive  two  and  two 
as  five,  because  an  inseparable  association  compels  us  to  con- 
ceive it  as  four ; "  and  that  we  cannot  conceive  two  straight 
lines  as  inclosing  a  space,  because  "the  mental  image  of  two 
straight  lines  which  have  once  met,  is  inseparably  associated 
with  the  representation  of  them  as  diverging."  It  is  rather 
hard  to  believe  that  a  mathematician  has  no  better  reason  for 
affirming  either  of  these  truths,  than  a  French  rustic  has  for 
persistently  calling  a  cabbage  a  chou,  or  an  English  peasant 
for  invariably  denominating  it  a  cabbage.  The  etymology  of 
the  word  con-capio  indicates  clearly  enough,  that  to  conceive 
means  to  grasp  together  attributes  in  a  unity  of  presentation 
before  the  mind,  —  that  is,  to  individualize  them  by  an  act  of 
imagination.  Of  course,  the  attempt  to  do  this  must  fail, 
either  when  there  are  no  attributes,  except  negative  ones,  to 
be  grasped  together,  as  is  the  case  with  the  Infinite,  or  with 
pure  Being  (»SV?yw  ist  nichts^)  ;  or  when  the  elements  thus 
brought  into  juxtaposition  absolutely  refuse  to  coalesce  into  a 
single  image,  as  in  the  case  of  a  "  round  square."  So,  also, 
images  of  an  inclosed  space  and  of  two  straight  lines,  or  of 
two  and  two  and  of  five,  will  not  flow  into  one  ;  and  this  in- 
capacity of  union  is  just  as  obvious  the  first  time  we  form  dis- 
tinct imaf/es  of  them  as  the  last,  the  frequency  of  making  the 
trial  having  nothing  to  do  with  the  firmness  of  our  conviction 
that  the  result  cannot  be  attained.  Yet  Mr.  Mill  maintains 
that  "  we  should  probably  have  no  difficulty  in  putting  to- 
gether the  two  ideas  supposed  to  be  incompatible,  if  our  ex- 
perience had  not  first  inseparably  associated  one  of  them  with 


MILL   ON  HAMILTON.  291 

the  contradictory  of  the  other  "  ;  that  is,  the  only  reason  why 
we  cannot  believe  that  two  and  two  are  five,  is  that  we  have 
been  uniformly  accustomed  to  think  that  they  are  four  !  Surely 
this  is  empiricism  run  mad,  since  it  is  more  than  the  stoutest 
advocate  of  the  doctrine,  that  all  our  knowledge  of  real  things 
is  derived  from  experience,  needs  to  affirm.  Experience  itself 
is  only  an  aggregate  of  intuitions  ;  and  if  any  one  of  these, 
taken  singly,  is  not  valid,  the  whole  must  be  worthless.  If  a 
single  intuition  in  imagination  does  not  convince  us  that  two 
and  two  are  four  —  i.  e.,  are  not  five  —  then  are  we  incompetent 
to  affirm,  on  the  like  basis  of  a  single  intuition,  that  scarlet 
and  crimson  are  both  red  —  i.  e.,  are  not  blue  or  yellow.  The 
compatibility  or  incompatibility  of  two  given  attributes  with 
each  other  is  a  universal  truth,  even  a  necessary  and  immut- 
able truth,  which  is  often  grasped  quite  as  firmly  through  a 
single  intuition  as  through  a  multitude  of  experiments  ;  most 
of  the  primary  truths  of  mathematics  are  of  this  character. 
But  we  cannot  affirm  any  attribute  generally  of  a  whole  class 
of  real  entities  or  existing  things  —  e.  g.,  that  all  matter  is 
heavy  —  except  on  the  basis  of  multiplied  experience  ;  and  such 
affirmation  remains,  at  best,  only  a  contingent  truth.  It  is 
still  possible  that  it  should  be  falsified  by  further  experience. 
Mr.  Mill  admits  that  "  we  are  unable  to  conceive  an  end  to 
space  ;  "  but  accounts  for  this  want  of  power  in  his  usual  way, 
not  by  any  inherent  incapacity,  but  solely  by  the  empirical 
fact,  that  "  we  have  never  perceived  any  object,  or  any  portion 
of  space,  which  had  not  other  space  beyond  it.  And  we  have 
been  perceiving  objects  and  portions  of  space  from  the  moment 
of  birth."  Very  well ;  so,  also,  we  have  never  perceived  any 
particular  body,  or  aggregate  of  matter,  which  had  not  some 
other  body  near  it.  At  least,  it  had  near  it  the  ground  which 
it  rested  on,  or  the  atmosphere  in  which  it  floated.  Are  we 
therefore  unable  to  conceive  a  body  absolutely  isolated,  — • 
hanging,  for  instance,  as  many  conceive  the  universe  to  do,  in 
an  otherwise  void  inane  ?  Mr.  Mill  is  the  last  person  who 
ought  to  affirm  such  isolation  to  be  inconceivable  ;  for,  as  we 
shall  endeavor  to  show,  his  own  "  Psychological  Theory  of 
Mind  "  leaves  him,  the  author  of  it,  just  in  this  state  of  un- 
comfortable loneliness,  without  a  being  to  talk  to,  or  an  earth 


292  MILL   ON  HAMILTON. 

to  rest  upon,  except  his  own  sensations.  Of  course,  he  will 
reject  this  inference  from  his  theory  ;  since  he  is  not  so  dar- 
ingly consistent  as  his  prototypes,  Hume  and  Fichte,  by  both 
of  whom  it  is  frankly  admitted.  But  he  surely  will  not  so  far 
disclaim  kindred  with  them  as  to  assert  that  their  hypotheses 
are  not  only  unfounded,  but  inconceivable.  He  is  but  a  tyro 
in  metaphysics,  who  cannot  so  far  enter  into  the  scheme  of 
Absolute  Idealism,  or  Pantheism,  as  to  be  able  to  conceive 
The  One  as  existing  to  the  exclusion  of  all  else. 

While  thus  admitting  that  we  cannot  conceive  an  end  to 
space,  Mr.  Mill  strives  to  escape  from  Hamilton's  dilemma,  by 
affirming  that  our  conception  of  Infinite  Space  is  a  real  con- 
ception ;  that  it  "  is  both  real  and  perfectly  definite  "  /  that 
"  we  possess  it  as  completely  as  we  possess  any  of  our  clearest 
conceptions,  and  can  avail  ourselves  of  it  as  well  for  ulterior 
mental  operations."  He  seems  to  limit  this  assertion,  indeed, 
by  admitting  that  the  conception  is  "  not  adequate  ;  "  but  this 
limitation  amounts  to  nothing,  in  view  either  of  the  passage 
which  we  have  just  italicized,  or  of  the  assertion  which  he  im- 
mediately volunteers,  that  "  we  never  have  an  adequate  con- 
ception of  anv  real  thing."  But  his  doctrine,  as  thus  explained, 
involves  him  in  a  worse  difficulty  than  that  which  he  strove 
to  shun.  The  want  of  experience,  he  tells  us,  is  all  that  pre- 
vents us  from  conceiving  space  as  infinite.  Ought  not,  then,  a 
corresponding  want  of  experience  to  prevent  us  from  conceiv- 
ing space  as  finite  ?  Or  does  Mr.  Mill  intend  to  maintain 
the  not  very  intelligible  proposition,  that  finite  man  has  had 
experience  of  Infinite  Space  as  Infinite  ? 

As  already  remarked,  we  hold  that  Infinite  Space,  like  Pure 
Being,  is  inconceivable  from  the  first  of  the  two  reasons  men- 
tioned. —  namely,  from  the  want  of  any  attributes,  except 
negative  ones,  to  be  grasped  together.  Mr.  Mill  says  it  is  con- 
ceivable. Will  he  inform  us  under  what  attributes  he  con- 
ceives it,  whether  as  a  pyramid,  a  cube,  a  sphere,  or  what 
other  shape  ?  whether  as  regular  or  irregular  in  outline,  flexi- 
ble or  stiff,  movable  or  immovable,  colored  or  colorless  ?  If 
it  has  none  of  these  qualities,  but  is  characterized  only  by  the 
absence  of  all  of  them,  will  he  tell  us  how  a  conception  of 
something  which  has  no  limits,  no  shape,  no  consistence,  no 


MILL   ON   HAMILTON.  293 

mobility  and  no  color,  can  still  be  "perfectly  definite,"  pos- 
sessed "  as  completely  as  we  possess  any  of  our  clearest  con- 
ceptions "  ?  The  question  is  an  interesting  one,  as  Mr.  Mill 
is  an  ultra-Nominalist,  thoroughly  committed  to  the  doctrine 
that  a  "  Concept  cannot  exist  in  the  mind  except  enveloped 
in  the  miscellaneous  attributes  of  an  individual ;  "  that  it  must 
be  such  as  to  be  depicted  to  sense  or  imagination,  since  "  the 
existence  of  Abstract  Ideas — the  conception  of  the  class- 
qualities  by  themselves,  and  not  as  embodied  in  an  individual 
—  is  effectually  precluded  by  the  law  of  Inseparable  Associa- 
tion." He  does  tell  us  that,  in  order  to  conceive  Infinite  Space, 
we  have  to  "  think  away  only  the  idea  of  an  end  or  a  boun- 
dary." So  far,  then,  it  is  merely  a  negative  idea,  since  we  only 
know  what  it  is  not.  Let  him  then  decide  how  definite  a  con- 
ception he  can  give  of  color  to  a  congenitally  blind  person,  by 
informing  him  that  it  is  not  sound;  or  of  sound  to  one  who 
has  never  heard  one,  by  saying  that  it  is  not  color.  It  is  only 
putting  the  difficulty  in  other  words  to  say,  that  the  con- 
genitally blind  cannot  have  any  definite  conception  even  of 
the  absence  of  color,  or  the  congenitally  deaf  of  the  absence  of 
sound.  Nay,  according  to  Mr.  Mill's  own  law  of  Inseparable 
Association,  since  all  the  objects  within  our  experience  have 
an  end  and  a  boundary,  we  cannot  even  conceive  of  that  which 
has  neither. 

It  is  a  transparent  paralogism  to  urge,  as  Mr.  Mill  does,  that 
we  can  even  have  a  positive  conception  of  Infinite  Space,  be- 
cause we  leave  to  it  some  positive  attributes ;  —  "  we  leave  to 
it  the  character  of  space  ;  all  that  belongs  to  it  as  space  ;  its 
three  dimensions,"  etc.  The  only  question  is,  whether  we  can 
think  Space  as  Infinite  ;  and  this  is  not  answered  by  predi- 
cating certain  qualities  of  Space  as  Finite,  since  the  possession 
of  these  does  not  at  all  discriminate  the  Infinite  from  the  Fi- 
nite, which  is  the  very  tiling  that  we  are  called  upon  to  do. 
Mr.  Mill  simply  tells  us  that  space  is  space,  whether  it  is  Fi- 
nite or  Infinite  :  —  which  is  not  very  important  information  in 
any  respect,  and  not  all  to  the  purpose  in  our  present  inquiry. 
It  is  not  even  true,  that  we  leave  to  the  conception  of  Infinite 
Space  "all  that  belongs  to  it  as  space,'"  for  space  consists  of 
parts,  while  Infinite  Space  has  no  parts.  If  it  had,  the  addi- 


294  MILL    ON   HAMILTON. 

tion  or  abstraction  of  a,  finite  part  would  increase  or  diminish 
infinity,  which  is  impossible  ;  and  the  very  phrase,  an  infinite 
part,  is  a  contradiction  in  terms. 

We  come  now  to  the  doctrine  of  the  Relativity  of  Knowl- 
edge, a  doctrine  which  has  been  presented  under  so  many  forms 
and  in  so  many  degrees,  that  a  full  discussion  of  it  would  carry 
us  over  nearly  the  whole  ground  of  metaphysics.  As  under- 
stood by  Mill,  the  Relativity  seems  to  be  tantamount  to  the 
Uncertainty  of  knowledge,  and  not  merely  to  a  limitation  of  it 
to  the  sphere  of  phenomena.  But  we  would  inquire,  whether 
the  existence  of  the  phenomena  themselves,  as  phenomena,  or 
as  appearances  either  in  our  minds,  or  somewhere  else,  and  as 
relative  to  us  or  to  our  consciousness,  is  not  certainly,  and  even 
absolutely,  known?  Do  we  not  know  them  immediately  and 
absolutely,  —  as  they  are  in  themselves,  or  in  their  several 
characteristics,  being  distinguishable  from  each  other  both  in 
quantity  and  quality,  since  they  have  distinct  attributes  and 
qualities?  Wherein,  then,  is  the  alleged  inconsistency  be- 
tween the  doctrine  of  the  Relativity  of  Knowledge,  and  that  of 
Real  Presentationism,  or  immediate  intuition  of  the  Primary 
Qualities  of  body,  these  Qualities  being  directly  presented  to 
us  — that  is,  being  phenomenally  known  —  as  forms  of  the  Non- 
Ego? 

How  do  you  know  that  your  own  sensations  exist,  or  are 
actual  ?  Why,  because  we  have  an  immediate  or  presentative 
knowledge  of  them,  as  phenomena  of  our  own  minds,  —  that  is, 
as  mere  subjective  affections.  But  do  we  therefore  have  an 
absolute  knowledge  of  them  as  such  ?  If  Mr.  Mill  says  Yes, 
then  he  rejects  that  doctrine  of  Relativity  which  is  equivalent 
to  denying  the  Certainty  of  our  intuitive  knowledge  of  phe- 
nomena. If  he  says' Xo,  then  there  is  an  immediate,  which  is 
not  an  absolute,  knowledge  ;  and  the  whole  ground  for  this 
particular  criticism  on  Hamilton  disappears. 

But  it  is  urged  that  the  phenomena  of  sensation  and  emo- 
tion are  "perceived  or  felt  as  facts  that  have  no  reality  out  of 
us;"  while  the  phenomena  of  solidity  and  extension  are  "al- 
leged to  be  perceived  as  facts  whose  reality  is  out  of  our  minds 
and  in  the  material  object."  What  of  that?  Our  present 
question  is,  not  whether  these  qualities  really  exist  externally, 


MILL   ON   HAMILTON.  295 

just  in  the  mode  under  which  they  appear  or  are  presented  to 
our  minds  ;  but  whether  they  are  presented  to  us  as  so  existing. 
We  are  now  asking  —  What  these  perceptions  affirm,  and  in 
what  manner  they  affirm  it :  —  and  not  —  Whether  they  affirm 
it  truly.  The  phenomena  of  internal  sensations  and  emotions, 
such  as  appetite,  pain,  and  sorrow,  appear  or  manifest  them- 
selves as  mere  subjective  affections  ;  the  phenomena  of  ex- 
ternal perception,  on  the  other  hand,  announce  themselves 
through  consciousness  as  modes  of  the  Non-Ego  intuitively 
apprehended ;  —  that  is,  as  a  direct  and  immediate,  and  not 
merely  a  vicarious  or  representative,  knowledge  of  the  quali- 
ties of  external  things.  That  they  manifest  themselves  in  this 
manner,  —  the  former  as  subjective,  and  the  latter  as  object- 
ive,—  will  hardly  be  denied  even  by  those  who  affirm  such 
manifestation  to  be  illusive,  —  a  mere  simulacrum,  in  the  lat- 
ter case,  of  outness  and  objectivity.  Neither  will  it  be  denied 
that  the  apprehension  of  the  subjective  and  objective  modes 
is  equally  immediate.  When  touched  or  pressed  by  some 
foreign  substance  simultaneously,  or  in  quick  succession,  on 
two  separate  portions  of  the  surface  of  my  body  at  an  appre- 
ciable distance  from  each  other,  —  as  on  the  shoulder  and  the 
hip,  —  I  am  directly  conscious  of  the  difference  between  here 
and  there,  and  thus  intuitively  apprehend  the  extension  of  my 
own  body,  and  the  solidity  of  the  substance  in  contact  with  it. 
Even  if  I  am  asleep  and  only  dream  of  such  impressions  made 
upon  me,  still  I  do  dream  of  them  as  such, —  namely,  as  ob- 
jective and  external  affections  immediately  perceived.  But  my 
knowledge  of  them  as  objective  is  only  relative,  as  I  shall  find 
on  awakening  from  the  dream.  We  affirm,  then,  that  the  doc- 
trine of  the  Relativity  of  Knowledge  is  perfectly  reconcilable 
with  that  of  Natural  Realism,  or  the  immediate  perception  of 
the  Primary  Qualities  of  body. 

Mr.  Mill  vainly  puzzles  himself  over  Hamilton's  often  re- 
peated assertions,  that  Extension  and  Solidity  are  known 
"  immediately  in  themselves,"  and  not  merely  "  in  their  effects 
on  us ;  "  and  that  they  are  "  apprehended  as  they  are  in 
bodies,  and  not,  like  the  Secondary,  as  they  are  in  us."  Very 
true!  They  are  known  or  apprehended  BY  US  as  such,  or  un- 
der that  character.  Whether  they  really  possess  that  charac- 


296  MILL   ON   HAMILTON. 

ter,  apart  from  their  appearance  under  the  form  of  it  to  our 
minds,  is  another  question.  Our  present  inquiry  concerns 
only  the  mode  of  their  presentation  to  our  minds,  or  of  their 
apprehension  by  our  consciousness,  and  does  not  even  touch 
the  point,  how  they  are  apprehended  by  minds  differently 
constituted  —  for  instance,  by  the  Infinite  Mind.  Natural 
Realism,  as  we  understand  it,  does  not  necessarily  conflict  with 
Berkeleyan  Idealism,  or  with  Malebranche's  doctrine  that  we 
see  all  things  in  God  ;  though  it  certainly  deprives  those  theo- 
ries of  some  portion  of  their  plausibility.  It  does  conflict 
sharply  with  that  dreary  form  of  Idealism  —  more  properly 
called  Egoism,  or  Nihilism —  which  leaves  a  solitary  "thread 
of  consciousness  "  alone  in  the  universe,  acknowledging  no 
power  of  efficient  causation  either  in  itself  or  out  of  itself,  and 
reducing  the  universe,  in  fact,  to  a  mere  string  of  sensations 
following  each  other  in  a  fatalistic  connection,  without  begin- 
ning, end,  or  purpose. 

The  doctrine  that  the  Primary  Qualities  are  apprehended 
"  immediately  in  themselves"  and  not  merely  "in  their  effects 
on  us,"  will  not  appear  irreconcilable  with  the  assertion,  that 
our  knowledge  of  them  is  only  Relative,  to  any  one  who  con- 
siders the  two  perfectly  distinct  meanings  of  the  phrase  here 
italicized. 

1.  To  know  a  thing  immediately  in  itself  is   to  be  distin- 
guished from  knowing  it  only  through  an   image  or  represen- 
tation of  itself ;  the  former  is  knowing  it  per  se,  the   latter, 
per  aliiid.     An  instance  of  the  former  is  my  consciousness  of 
present  pain ;  of  the  latter,  my  remembrance  of  a  former  pain. 

2.  To  know  a  thing  immediately  in  itself  is  also  to  be  dis- 
tinguished from  knowing  it  only  as   it   is   in   relation  to  our 

•faculties.  The  former  —  if  it  were  a  possible  cognition,  which 
it  is  not  —  would  be  of  the  I) ing  an  sick,  the  noumenon  ;  the 
latter  is  only  of  the  phenomenon. 

The  doctrine  of  Natural  Realism  adopts  the  former  of  these 
two  meanings  :  it  teaches  that  the  Primary  Qualities  are 
known  in  themselves  immediately,  but  not  absolutely.  Mr. 
Mill  fails  to  distinguish  the  two,  and,  through  his  own  confu- 
sion of  thought,  attributes  a  blunder  to  the  philosopher  whom 
he  is  criticising.  For  we  maintain  that  this  is  not  merely  a 


MILL   ON   HAMILTON.  29T 

possible  interpretation  of  Hamilton's  language,  but  that  it  is 
clearly,  and  we  had  almost  said  unmistakably,  his  meaning. 
Witness  the  two  following  passages  from  the  Dissertations 
Supplementary  to  Reid  :  — 

"  In  the  act  of  sensible  perception,  I  am  conscious  of  two  things  — 
of  myself  as  the  perceiving  subject,  arid  of  an  external  reality,  in  rela- 
tion with  my  sense,  as  the  object  perceived.  Of  the  existence  of  both 
these  things  I  am  convinced  ;  because  I  am  conscious  of  knowing  each 
of  them,  not  mediately  in  something  else,  as  represented,  but  immedi- 
ately in  itself,  as  existing.  Of  their  mutual  independence  I  am  no  less 
convinced,  because  each  is  apprehended  equally  and  at  once,  in  the 
same  indivisible  energy,  the  one  not  preceding  or  determining,  the 
other  not  following  or  determined;  and  because  each  is  apprehended 
out  of,  and  in  direct  contrast  to,  the  other." 

Here  we  are  told  what  we  are  conscious  of,  and  Jioiv  the  two 
things  are  apprehended.  Our  conviction  of  the  fact  of  their 
actual  existence  is  rightly  stated  merely  as  an  inference  from 
this  their  mode  of  manifestation  to  us  —  which  inference,  of 
course,  though  it  may  be  called  knowledge,  is  only  relative 
knowledge.  But  that  there  may  be  no  mistake  on  this  point, 
Hamilton  soon  adds  this  explanation  :  — 

"  I  have  frequently  asserted,  that  in  perception  we  are  conscious  of 
the  external  object  immediately  and  in  itself.  This  is  the  doctrine  of 
Natural  Realism.  But  in  saying  that  a  thing  is  known  in  itself,  I  do 
not  mean  that  this  object  is  known  in  its  absolute  existence,  that  is, 
out  of  relation  to  us.  This  is  impossible ;  for  our  knowledge  is  only  of 
the  relative.  To  know  a  thing  in  itself  or  immediately,  is  an  expres- 
sion I  use  merely  in  contrast  to  the  knowledge  of  a  thing  in  a  representa- 
tion, or  mediately.  On  this  doctrine,  an  external  quality  is  said  to  be 
known  in  itself,  when  it  is  known  as  the  immediate  and  necessary  cor- 
relative of  an  internal  quality  of  which  I  am  conscious I  can- 
not be  conscious  of  myself  as  the  resisted  relative,  without  at  the  same 
time  being  conscious,  being  immediately  percipient,  of  a  not-self  as  the 
resisting  correlative.  In  this  cognition  there  is  no  sensation,  no  stib- 
jectivo-organic  affection.  I  simply  know  myself  as  a  force  in  energy, 
the  not-self  as  a  counter  force  in  energy." 

We  may  well  wonder  how  language  so  explicit  as  this  could 
be  misunderstood  by  a  philosopher  of  so  much  acuteness  as  Mr. 
Mill. 


298  MILL  ON   HAMILTON. 

The  final  sentence  of  this  last  extract  is  an  admirably  clear 
and  simple  statement  of  that  fact  of  consciousness,  in  which 
we  are  assured  both  of  our  own  existence  as  exerting  force,  or 
putting  forth  inborn  power,  and  of  its  correlative,  a  counter 
force  exerted  against  us  by  something  which  is  not  ourselves. 
The  most  distinct  manifestation  which  we  have  of  Self  is  this 
consciousness  of  the  exertion  of  our  own  force ;  not  the  mere 
sensation  of  muscular  strain,  for  that  comes  afterwards,  and  is 
contingent  on  the  healthy  action  of  the  nervous  and  muscular 
organism.  It  is  the  direct  perception  of  mental  effort  which 
constitutes  what  Hamilton  calls  "the  enorganic  volition;" 
not  the  "hyperorganic,"  which  is  merely  meditating  the  act 
before  willing  it ;  nor  the  "  organic,"  which  is  only  contingent, 
because  it  may  be  frustrated  by  paralysis  of  the  nerves,  and  is 
empiric,  since  it  can  be  known  only  after  experience.  But  the 
enorganic  is  the  true  nisus  —  the  act  itself,  which  is  free,  be- 
cause neither  external  force  nor  inward  temptation  can  elicit 
or  check  it  ;  and,  hence,  it  is  this  alone  for  which  conscience 
holds  us  responsible.  Man  first  becomes  fully  conscious  of  him- 
self in  this  exercise  of  his  free  activity;  because  mere  thought 
is  passive,  being  subject  to  a  law,  that  of  the  association  of 
ideas,  which  is  beyond  his  control.  His  will  alone  escapes 
law,  mocks  at  external  compulsion,  and  riots  in  the  sense  of  its 
own  freedom.  The  Cartesian  axiom  understates  the  truth, 
and  should  be  modified  ;  not  mere  thought,  but  volition,  first 
fully  reveals  man  to  himself.  When  this  free  volition  becomes 
organic,  or  is  manifested  externally  through  the  muscles,  it 
soon  encounters  resistance  from  without,  or  an  external  force 
counteracting  it ;  and  in  this  we  first  cognize  the  Not-Self, 
which  we  call  material,  though  the  fact  that  it,  too,  manifests 
force,  induced  Berkeley  to  consider  it  as  spiritual.  Hence,  the 
only  form  of  Idealism  which  escapes  the  dreary  conclusion  of 
Egoism  —  which  does  not  leave  the  Idealist  alone  in  the  uni- 
verse—  is  the  Berkeleyan.  The  Ego  finds  itself  inclosed,  and 
the  exercise  of  its  free  activity  restricted,  within  the  limits  of 
that  covering  of  flesh  in  which  it  is,  at  least  in  idea,  impris- 
oned ;  though  within  these  limits,  it  "  spreads  undivided,  oper- 
ates unspent,"  in  every  fibre  and  atom.  Through  the  numer- 
ous points  of  contact  and  resistance  between  the  internal  and 


MILL   ON   HAMILTON.  299 

the  external  force  which  this  embodiment  supplies,  and  through 
its  instinctive  recognition  of  the  difference  between  these  points 
as  here  and  there,  Self  becomes  conscious  of  the  extension  of 
its  own  body,  and  hence,  at  once,  of  externality  and  the  free 
space  within  which  this  body  acts.  As  immediately  appre- 
hended by  consciousness,  matter  is  known  only  as  a  counter 
force  in  energy  within  certain  limits  of  extension ;  and  this 
spiritualized  conception  of  it  physicists  themselves,  on  grounds 
afforded  by  their  own  science,  are  fast  adopting  with  singular 
unanimity. 

As  contrasted  with  this  clear  and  simple  doctrine,  Mr.  Mill's 
Psychological  Theory  of  Matter  and  Mind  appears  to  us,  we 
must  confess,  an  elaborate  failure.  Misled  by  "  the  fatal 
charms  of  the  goddess  Necessity,"  to  whose  pursuit  he  has  ad- 
hered with  wonderful  fidelity,  he  wanders  far  afield,  and  sits 
down  at  last  hopelessly  bewildered,  in  full  view  of  phenom- 
ena, which,  as  he  is  obliged  to  admit,  are  on  his  theory  en- 
tirely inexplicable.  "  So  much  the  worse  for  them  !  "  He  pre- 
fers to  leave  the  facts  unexplained,  rather  than  abandon  his 
theory.  A  pretty  cool  admission  this,  in  view  of  the  grave 
rebuke  which  he  soon  administers  to  Hamilton,  by  declaring 
that  "he  is  not  entitled  to  frame  a  theory  from  one  class  of 
phenomena,  extend  it  to  another  class  which  it  does  not  fit, 
and  excuse  himself  by  saying,  that  if  we  cannot  make  it  iit, 
it  is  because  ultimate  facts  are  inexplicable." 

Denying  any  efficient  causation,  and  resolving  even  the  idea 
of  Cause  into  mere  uniformity  of  sequence,  his  "  groups  "  of 
Sensations,  and  "  Permanent  Possibilities  of  Sensation,"  remain 
obstinately  subjective,  and  refuse  to  assume  even  a  decent  sem- 
blance of  a  thinking  Self,  or  of  external  realities.  Each  one 
testifies  only  to  the  fact  of  its  own  individual  existence  ;  and 
it  does  even  this  only  in  some  unexplained  and  incomprehen- 
sible way.  Rejecting,  also,  the  idea  of  Substance,  and  explain- 
ing away  our  fancied  notion  of  it  into  a  mere  Indissoluble  As- 
sociation, formed  by  long  and  uninterrupted  habit,  between 
certain  Sensations  always  recurring  near  each  other  and  in  a 
fixed  order,  even  his  "  groups  "  have  only  a  factitious  unity,  and 
resolve  themselves,  under  the  keen  eye  of  the  analytical  reason, 
into  a  mere  heap  of  dry  sand  without  any  real  cement  to  bind 


300  MILL   ON  HAMILTON. 

the  particles  together.  After  making  these  large  admissions, 
and  also  after  being  hard  pressed  by  his  critics,  we  are  not  sur- 
prised to  find  him  driven  at  last  to  the  frank  confession,  that 
he  does  "  not  believe  that  the  real  externality  to  us  of  any- 
thing, except  other  minds,  is  capable  of  proof."  Whether,  upon 
the  principles  of  his  own  theory,  the  exception  here  made  is  a 
valid  one,  is  a  point  for  subsequent  consideration.  Meanwhile 
it  is  to  be  remarked,  that  the  objective  reality  of  Space  itself 
is  negatived  by  denying  outness,  which  is  its  necessary  condi- 
tion. He  admits,  also,  that  "  he  has  never  pretended  to  ac- 
count by  association  for  the  idea  of  Time,"  as  he  believes  that 
the  facts  of  simultaneity  and  succession  are  all  that  his  theory 
needs  to  postulate. 

He  must  be  an  intrepid  reasoner,  who  still  maintains  the 
sufficiency  of  a  method  which  leads  to  these  disastrously  neg- 
ative results.  These  are  the  legitimate  consequences  of  what 
Mr.  Mill  calls  the  "  Psychological  Method,"  which  attempts  to 
account  for  our  supposed  cognitions  of  Matter  and  Mind  by  re- 
solving both  into  a  mere  series  of  sensations,  which  is,  in  some 
inexplicable  manner,  conscious  of  itself  as  a  series,  and  the 
various  parts  of  which  tend,  under  the  law  of  the  association 
of  ideas,  to  coalesce  into  groups.  He  challenges  a  compar- 
ison of  this  mode  of  procedure  with  the  Hamiltonian,  which  he 
calls  the  Introspective  Method  —  though  it  would  be  more 
properly  called  the  Intuitive,  since  it  asserts  an  immediate  or 
intuitive  cognition  of  both  these  realities,  as  original  facts  of 
consciousness.  As  the  Psychological  Method  resolves  both 
Matter  and  Mind  into  mere  groups  of  sensations,  we  are  not 
surprised  to  find  such  "metaphysical  entities,"  or  abstractions, 
as  Cause,  Power,  Substance,  Externality,  Time,  and  Space, 
disappearing  along  with  them  ;  disappearing  not  only  in  fact, 
as  unproved,  but  even  in  idea  ;  since  it  is  maintained  that  we 
have  no  distinct  conception  of  what  these  words  denote. 

Now,  it  is  only  under  these  very  forms  and  abstractions  —  if 
we  may  not  call  them  "  entities  " —  as  invested  with  them  and 
manifested  through  them,  that  both  the  Self  and  the  Not-Self 

O  ' 

are  presented  to  consciousness.  And  the  Psychological  The- 
ory has  to  explain  the  origin  of  these  seemingly  intuitive  cog- 
nitions as  thus  presented,  in  all  their  characteristics;  not  only 


MILL   ON   HAMILTON.  301 

in  their  most  naked  and  abstract  form,  as  merely  contradistin- 
guished from  each  other ;  but  as  conditioned  and  limited  by 
Time  and  Space,  as  acting  and  reacting  upon  each  other  by 
their  Causal  efficiency,  and  marked  off,  so  to  speak,  into  two 
distinct  realms  of  consciousness  by  belonging,  apparently,  the 
one  to  an  inner,  and  the  other  to  an  outer,  world.  Mr.  Mill 
adopts  as  his  criterion  of  truth,  not  the  testimony  of  conscious- 
ness, however  seemingly  immediate  and  primitive,  but  the 
greater  or  less  plausibility  of  any  theory  which  may  be  framed 
respecting  the  manner  in  which  consciousness  was  first  induced 
to  put  on  this  illusive  semblance  of  immediateness  and  origi- 
nality. Pie  thus  denies  that  we  can  know  by  intuition  whether 
any  cognition  is  or  is  not  intuitive  ;  which  is  only  a  rounda- 
bout mode  of  denying  that  any  truth  or  fact  can  be  intuitively 
known.  He  makes  reasoning  the  test  of  intuitions,  instead  of 
intuitions  being  the  test  of  reasoning.  We  maintain  that  in- 
tuitions can  be  at  once  cognized  as  such  —  that  is,  can  be  im- 
mediately distinguished  from  empirical  and  derivative  truths 
or  facts  —  by  these  two  marks  or  tests  :  —  1,  by  their  character 
of  necessity,  their  contradictory  being  inconceivable  or  unim- 
aginable ;  or  2,  by  their  being  necessary  elements  of  experience, 
so  that  without  them  experience  itself  would  not  be  possible. 
Let  us  apply  both  these  criteria. 

I.  We  maintain  that  Extension  or  Space  is  made  known  to 
us  by  direct  intuition,  in  the  manner  just  explained,  by  dis- 
tinguishing here  from  there  on  the  surface  of  our  own  bodies. 
We  say  this  cognition  is  intuitive,  both  because  it  presents  it- 
self as  such  to  our  consciousness  —  that  is,  as  immediate,  since 
we  certainly  are  not  conscious  of  deriving  it,  either  by  infer- 
ence or  by  composition,  from  antecedent  cognitions  ;  and  be- 
cause it  possesses  the  first  of  the  two  criteria  just  mentioned, 
viz.,  necessity  ;  for  when  we  have  once  conceived  and  affirmed 
the  existence  of  Space,  we  find  ourselves  utterly  unable  to  con- 
ceive its  destruction,  or  imagine  its  non-existence.  We  can 
with  the  utmost  ease  imagine  not  only  the  disappearance,  but 
the  annihilation,  of  all  the  material  objects  now  occupying  a 
given  portion  of  space  :  but  this  space  once  so  occupied  utterly 
refuses  to  be  reduced  to  a  nonentity,  even  in  imagination.  To 
take  an  instance  more  pertinent  to  our  discussion  with  Mr. 


302  MILL    ON   HAMILTON. 

Mill ;  —  though  a  lifelong  association,  an  experience  repeated 
every  instant  of  my  whole  life,  connects  me  with  my  own  body 
—  that  body  a  suggestion  from  which  furnished  the  occasion 
on  which  the  idea  of  space  first  rose  into  my  mind  —  I  can  with 
ease  imagine  the  dissolution,  and  even  the  annihilation,  of 
every  particle  of  my  body.  But  even  the  smallest  portion  of 
the  space  now  occupied  by  this  body  flatly  refuses  to  be  anni- 
hilated, even  in  idea.  The  parts  of  space,  then,  present  them- 
selves to  intuition  as  necessarily  indestructible  ;  as  external, 
not  only  to  the  perceiving  mind,  but  to  each  other  (partes  ex- 
tra partes^)  :  as  immovable  and  so  inseparable  from  each  other  ; 
and  as  a  condition  of  the  existence  of  matter.  Am  I  asked,  on 
what  authority  it  is  affirmed  that  space  possesses  all  these  prop- 
erties? The  answer  is  plain;  on  the  authority  of  Intuition. 
If  he  considers  the  subject  for  a  moment,  every  person's  con- 
sciousness will  assure  him  that  he  conceives  space  as  possess- 
ing every  one  of  these  attributes. 

Thus,  then,  the  Intuitional  or  Introspective  Theory  accounts 
for  the  genesis  of  the  idea  of  Space,  with  all  the  characteristics 
now  enumerated.  On  occasion  of  a  trival  and  oft-repeated  ex- 
perience—  the  casual  contact  of  some  foreign  substance  with 
two  distinct  portions  of  my  body,  the  idea  spontaneously  rises 
in  my  mind,  and  subsequent  reflection  assures  me  that  it  pos- 
sesses each  of  these  attributes.  How  does  Mr.  Mill  solve  the 
same  problem  on  the  principles  of  his  Psychological  Theory  ? 
It  is  difficult  to  consider  the  points  of  his  answer  with  gravity, 
or  believe  that  he  is  serious  in  propounding  it. 

Remember  that  he  has  no  material  to  work  with  but  pres- 
ent and  remembered  Sensations,  occurring  either  singly  or  in 
groups;  the  action  of  Association  in  binding  the  members  of 
these  groups  firmly  together,  even  causing  them  at  times  to 
coalesce  into  one  ;  and  Expectation,  under  given  circumstances, 
of  the  recurrence  of  similar  groups,  thus  forming  what  he  calls 
"  Permanent  Possibilities  of  Sensation."  Our  whole  knowl- 
edge of  these  Sensations  and  groups,  whether  in  their  simple 
state,  or  as  modified  by  Association  and  Expectation,  is  lim- 
ited to  their  coexistences  and  sequences,  and  their  similitudes. 
What  chemistry  will  unable  Mr.  Mill  to  transmute  any  one,  or 
any  combination,  of  such  materials  into  the  idea  of  indestruc- 
tible, external,  immovable,  eternal,  and  infinite  Space? 


MILL   ON  HAMILTON.  303 

Recapitulating  his  theory,  he  says  :  "  The  sensation  of  mus- 
cular motion  unimpeded  constitutes  our  notion  of  empty  space, 
and  the  sensation  of  muscular  motion  impeded  constitutes  that 
of  filled  space.  Space  is  Room  —  room  for  movement."  And, 
in  further  explanation  of  his  theory,  he  affirms  :  "  that  the  idea 
of  Space  is,  at  bottom,  one  of  Time  —  and  that  the  notion  of 
extension  or  distance  is  that  of  a  motion  of  the  muscles  contin- 
ued for  a  longer  or  shorter  duration." 

The  objections  to  this  theory  are  numerous  and  patent. 

1.  Before  we  have  the  ideas   either  of  outness  or  of  space, 
how  do  \ve  know  that  motion  takes  place,  or  even  what  motion 
is  ?     The  only  possible  conception  of  motion  is  that  of  trans- 
ferrence  from  one  part  of  space  to  another ;  and  it  is  therefore 
inconceivable,  unless  we  already  know  what  space  is.    An  idea 
cannot  beget  itself. 

2.  As,  on  this  theory,  we  only  know  the  Sensations  and  the 
order  of  their  occurrence,  how  can  we  know  that  certain  Sen- 
sations are  caused  or  produced  by  motion  ?     Mr.  Mill  rejects 
the  notion  of   efficient,  or  real,   cause   altogether,  substituting 
that  of  invariable  antecedent.     Then  we  must  first  have  an  an- 
tecedent sensation  of  motion,  and  know  it  as  such,  before  we 
can  know  the  consequent  sensation  to  be  one  of  motion.     Then 
again,  the  child  is  supposed  to  be  its  own  parent. 

3.  If,  before  having  the  idea  of  space,  I  can  know  that  cer- 
tain sensations  are  caused  by  motion,  then,  since  a  knowledge 
of  motion  presupposes  a  knowledge  of  the  locus  a  quo  and  the 
locus  ad  quan,  I  must  certainly  be  able,  antecedently  to  experi- 
ence, to  localize  sensations  in  my  own  body  as  here  or  there  ; 
which   Mr.   Mill   vehemently   denies,    since   admitting   such   a 
power  would  be  admitting  the  truth  of  the  opposite  theory. 

4.  If  ''the  idea  of  space  is  at  bottom  one  of  time,"  and  if, 
"  when  we  say  that  the  space  is  greater  or  less,  we  mean  that 
the  series  of  sensations  (amount  of  muscular  effort  being  given) 
is  longer  or  shorter,"  then  the  sensations  produced  by  merely 
supporting  continuously,  for  some  time,  with  great  muscular 
exertion,  a  considerable  weight,  though  I  stand  stock  still  while 
so  doing,  ought  to  give  the  ideas  both  of  motion  and  of  space 
equal  in  extent  to  the  duration  of  the  effort.      Here  are  all  the 
elements  necessary,  according  to  Mill,  for  the  genesis  of  the 
two  ideas  ;  yet  neither  idea  is  generated. 


304  MILL    ON   HAMILTON. 

5.  Consecutive  points  regarded  as  existing  simultaneously  — 
that  is,  before  and  after,  as  elements  of  extensive  length  —  are 
rightly  held  to  genei-ate,  or  rather  to  constitute,  the  idea,  not 
merely  of  succession,  but  of  space.     But  a  succession  of  events, 
one  passing  away  when  the  next  follows,  — that  is,  before  and 
after  as  elements  of  protensive  length,  —  is  regarded  as  giving 
us  an  idea  only  of  succession,  not  of  time.     Mill  seems  to  re- 
ject altogether  the  objective  conception  of  "an  entity  called 
Time,  and  regarded  as  not  a  succession  of  successions,  but  as 
something  in  which  the  successions   take   place."     Then,  the 
one  kind  of  succession  (simultaneous)  does  give  us  the  idea  of 
Space,  but  the  other  kind  (protensive)  does  not  give  us  the 
idea  of  Time  ;  and  yet  "  the  idea  of  Space  is  at  bottom  one  of 
Time,"  and,  only  by  the  duration  of  the  effort,  do  we  become 
conscious  of  the  extent  of  Space.     How,  then,  does  he  measure 
"  duration,"  or  what  means  "  duration,"  except  existence  con- 
tinued in  Time  ? 

6.  Why  should  the  idea  of  Space,  even  if  constructed  as  Mr. 
Mill  would  have  it  to  be,  be  that  of  an  external  and  indestruc- 
tible entity,  existing  independently  of  our  conceptions,  when 
all  its  elements  are  internal  and   contingent  ?     True,  he  does 
not  believe  in  the  externality  ;  or  rather,  he  believes  it  is  not 
"  capable  of  proof."      But  he  must  admit  that  we  have  an  idea 
of  it :  and  he  is  bound  to  show  how  this  idea  was  generated. 

It  does  not  appear,  then,  that  "  The  Battle  of  the  Two 
Philosophies,"  in  regard  to  the  idea  of  Space,  has  terminated 
in  a  victory  for  Mr.  Mill. 

II.  As  an  example  for  the  application  of  the  second  crite- 
rion of  an  intutitive  truth  known  as  such,  —  that  of  being  a 
necessary  condition  of  experience,  so  that,  without  it,  experi- 
ence would  not  be  possible,  —  take  the  direct  cognition  by  the 
thinking  subject  of  himself  as  exerting  force.  Here  we  are 
sorry  to  part  company  with  Hamilton,  Reid,  and  Stewart, 
though  Mr.  Mansel  is  on  our  side.  We  maintain,  with  the 
last  named,  that  in  every  act  of  consciousness,  but  especially 
in  that  of  volition,  we  are  directly  conscious,  not  only  of  the 
action,  but  of  the  agent ;  not  only  of  the  force  exerted,  but  of 
Self  as  exerting  force.  The  action  could  not  be  known  at  the 
moment  to  be  mine,  as  it  unquestionably  is,  if  one  and  the 


MILL   ON  HAMILTON.  805 

same  act  of  mine  did  not  cognize  both  the  Ego  and  the  effort. 
I  could  not  know  hunyer,  if  I  did  not,  at  the  same  moment, 
know  Self  as  feeling  the  hunger  ;  for  knowledge  is  a  relation 
between  the  Subject,  or  the  Self-knowing,  and  the  object 
known  ;  and  even  Mr.  Mill  admits  that  assuredly  a  relation 
cannot  "  be  thought  without  thinking  the  related  objects  be- 
tween which  it  exists."  In  the  case  of  Matter,  reasoning  from 
the  attributes  to  the  substance  is  a  proper  inference,  that  being 
inferred  which  is  not  directly  known  or  perceived.  But  in  the 
case  of  Mind,  we  pass  from  actions  to  the  agent,  which  is  no 
inference  at  all,  but  a  mere  descent  from  an  abstraction  to  a 
reality,  —  the  object  of  immediate  knowledge  being,  not  the 
act,  but  the  person  acting. 

For  these  reasons,  we  affirm  that  Self  is  an  immediate  and 
original  presentation  of  consciousness.  Mr.  Mill's  doctrine  is, 
that  Self  is  only  a  factitious  unit,  made  up  by  experience  and 
association  out  of  previous  sensations.  We  apply  to  this  doc- 
trine the  second  criterion,  and  maintain  that  a  cognition  of 
Self  is  a  prerequisite  or  condition  of  experience,  so  that,  with- 
out it,  no  experience  whatever  would  be  possible.  Before  Mr. 
Mill  can  make  any  use  of  his  psychological  chemistry,  before 
he  can  even  apply  association  to  cement  his  materials  together, 
he  must  know  that  these  materials  exist.  His  theory  postu- 
lates Sensations  ;  but  it  needs  to  postulate  known  sensations  — 
known  either  as  now  existing,  or  remembered  as  former  ob- 
jects of  knowledge.  But  any  act  of  knowledge  involves  a 
cognition  of  the  subject  knowing,  as  well  as  of  the  object 
known.  He  admits  this  fact  in  another  place,  where  he  says, 
"  The,  contrast  necessary  to  all  cognition  is  sufficiently  provided 
for  by  the  antithesis  between  the  Ego  and  particular  modi- 
fications of  the  Ego."  But  when  arguing  to  prove  that  the 
Ego  is  not  an  original  presentation  of  consciousness,  he  forgets 
this  admission,  and  denies  that  a  "  mere  impression  on  our 
senses  involves,  or  carries  with  it,  any  consciousness  of  a 
Self;"  and  asserts  that  "our  very  notion  of  a  Self  takes  its 
commencement,  there  is  every  reason  to  suppose,  from  the 
representation  of  a  sensation  in  memory.''''  Now,  it  is  very 
easy  to  believe  that  we  should  remember  less  ;  but  how  came 
we  to  remember  more,  than  we  originally  knew  ?  If  the  orig- 

20 


306  MILL   ON  HAMILTON. 

inal  presentation  of  the  sensation  did  not  contain  the  Ego, 
how  can  the  re-presentation  of  the  same  fact  contain  it  ?  But 
still  worse  :  the  first  "  mere  impression  on  our  senses,"  since 
it  does  not  involve  "  any  consciousness  of  a  Self,"  is  no  sen- 
sation —  no  cognition  at  all ;  for  "  the  contrast  necessary  to  all 
cognition  "  is  the  antithesis  between  this  very  Ego  and  its 
particular  modifications.  Apparently,  Mr.  Mill  thinks  he  had 
a  sensation  before  he  was  born,  or  even  conceived.  We  say 
again,  then,  that  by  denying  the  original  presentation  of  the 
Ego  in  consciousness,  he  has  made  experience  impossible,  and 
thereby  burned  up  all  the  materials  he  had  to  work  with,  his 
"  Psychological  Theory  "  of  Matter  and  Mind  perishing  in  the 
same  conflagration. 

Mr.  Mill  also  denies  any  "  euorganic  volition,"  considered  as 
a  conscious  putting  forth  of  energy  by  the  thinking  subject, 
either  antecedent  to,  or  wholly  apart  from,  the  sense  of  any 
muscular  strain.  As  a  necessary  part  of  his  doctrine  of  Ne- 
cessity, he  does  not  admit  a  mental,  but  only  "an  animal 
nlsiis"  as  Hume  calls  it,  which,  Mr.  Mill  says,  "  would  be 
more  properly  termed  a  conception  of  effort."  He  affirms, 
still  more  distinctly,  that  "  the  idea  of  Effort  is  essentially  a 
notion  derived  from  the  action  of  our  muscles,  or  from  that 
combined  with  affections  of  our  brain  and  nerves."  This  doc- 
trine will  not  appear  very  probable  to  any  one  who  has  "  made 
an  effort "  to  confine  his  attention  to  a  dull  book  ;  or  to  ban- 
ish gloomy  thoughts  ;  or  to  keep  down  an  expression  of  severe 
pain  ;  or  to  call  up  courage  to  face  danger  ;  or  to  remember 
a  half-forgotten  message  ;  or  to  repress  anger ;  or  to  do  half 
a  hundred  other  things,  in  which  mere  muscular  strain  has  as 

O      ' 

little  part  to  play  as  in  working  out  a  formula  by  the  binomial 
theorem.  In  fact,  this  doctrine  is  so  extravagant,  that  Mr. 
Mill  himself  forgets  that  he  has  been  pushed  into  affirming 
it,  and  informs  us,  in  another  place,  that  the  formation  of  a 
concept  "  requires  a  mental  effort,  a  concentration  of  conscious- 
ness upon  curtain  definite  objects,  which  concentration  depends 
on  the  will,  and  is  called  Attention.  And  again  he  says,  the 
consciousness  of  certain  elements  of  the  concrete  idea  '•  is 
faint,  in  proportion  to  the  energy  of  the  concentratlve  effort." 
Naturam  ejcpellas  furca.  Mr.  Mill's  vigorous  common  sense 


MILL   ON   HAMILTON.  307 

will  show  itself  in  spite  of  his  own  theories,  when  the  necessity 
of  defending  these  theories  is  not  immediately  before  him. 

In  another  passage,  the  difficulty  of  maintaining  this  very 
untenable  doctrine  seems  to  deprive  him  of  his  usual  precision 
and  caution  in  the  use  of  language,  and  in  statements  of  fact. 
He  questions  Hamilton's  assertion,  that  we  are  conscious  of  a 
mental  effort,  or  nisus,  to  move  —  distinct  both  from  the  orig- 
inal determination  to  move,  and  from  the  muscular  sensation, 
—  even  though  stupor  of  the  sensitive  nerves,  and  paralysis  of 
the  motor  nerves,  render  both  the  feeling  of  the  movement, 
and  the  movement  itself,  impossible;  and  he  adds,  "If  all 
this  is  true  —  though  by  what  experiments  it  has  been  sub- 
stantiated we  are  not  told  —  it  does  not  by  any  means  show 
that  there  is  a  mental  nisus  not  physical,  but  merely  re- 
moves the  seat  of  the  nisus  from  the  nerves  to  the  brain." 
"A  mental  nisus  not  physical!"  Will  Mr.  Mill  inform  us, 
what  is  a  mental  nisus  that  is  physical  ?  The  expression 
seems  very  like  a  contradiction  in  terms,  unless  he  now  in- 
tends to  teach  that  all  the  so-called  "  mental  "  phenomena  are 
really  physical,  thus  adopting  one  of  those  "  ruder  forms  of 
the  materialist  philosophy  "  against  which  he  so  vigorously 
protested  in  his  "  Logic,"  as  pretending  to  resolve  "  states  of 
consciousness  into  states  of  the  nervous  system."  He  surely 
does  not  mean  to  assert,  that  a  purely  mental  act,  which  is  an- 
tecedent to,  and  wholly  distinct  from,  any  muscular  sensa- 
tion, is  accompanied  by  immediate  consciousness  of  action  in 
the  brain.  And,  if  we  are  not  conscious  of  brain-action  in 
such  a  case,  will  he  tell  us  what  physiological  experiments 
have  proved  that,  in  the  case  supposed,  there  is  any  such  ac- 
tion ? 

The  so-called  "Psychological  Theory"  resolves  both  Mat- 
ter and  Mind  into  Permanent  Possibilities  of  Sensations.  As 
Mr.  Mill  says  we  cannot  prove  either  of  these  possible  groups 
to  be  really  external,  or  to  have  any  external  cause  or  antece- 
dent, it  is  not  easy  to  see  why  one  of  them  should  be  called 
Matter,  and  the  other  be  baptized  Mind ;  or  why  the  two  sup- 
posed entities,  that  are  thus  named,  should  be  so  broadly 
distinguished  from  each  other,  as  they  are  in  most  people's  ap- 
prehension of  them,  when,  in  fact,  they  are  both  made  up  of 


308  MILL  ON  HAMILTON. 

the  same  sort  of  elements,  put  together  by  the  same  process 
of  mental  chemistry.  Why  should  it  be  even  thought  that 
the  one  is  necessarily  external,  and  the  other  internal  ?  More- 
over, we  can  find  a  reason  why  certain  sensations  should  be 
put  into  the  one  group  that  is  called  a  material  object,  for 
they  are  simultaneous ;  at  the  same  moment,  I  may  see  the 
color,  smell  the  odor,  taste  the  savor,  and  feel  the  shape  and 
hardness,  of  the  one  object  which  I  call  an  apple.  But  we 
find  no  reason  why  the  other  phenomena  should  be  formed 
into  a  group  at  all,  since  they  are  not  simultaneous,  but 
successive,  and  often  separated  from  each  other  by  rather 
long  intervals.  Why  should  the  phenomena  of  "  knowing, 
feeling,  desiring,"  etc.,  be  selected  trom  the  countless  other 
manifestations  in  consciousness,  in  order  to  make  up  the  facti- 
tious unit  called  Mind  or  Self,  when  they  appear  in  every  pos- 
sible order,  sometimes  together,  sometimes  separate,  and  al- 
ways more  or  less  jumbled  up  with  external  sensations  ?  Some 
of  the  modifications  of  one  of  them,  such  as  joy,  anger,  pain, 
sorrow,  love,  and  the  like,  may  be  even  of  very  infrequent  oc- 
currence. Why  should  they  be  selected  as  elements  of  the 
second  group,  or  of  any  group,  except  from  a  previous  or  ac- 
companying Intuition,  that  these  alone  are  States  or  Modifi- 
cations of  a  real  unit  or  entity  which  I  call  Myself,  and  also 
from  an  Intuitive  apprehension  of  that  difference,  which  the 
"  Psychological  Theory  "  cannot  make  out  or  account  for, — 
the  difference  between  internal  and  external. 

"  Die,  sapiens  Milli,  et  eris  mihi  magnus  Apollo." 

" Matter,  then,"  says  Mr.  Mill,  according  to  his  "Psycho- 
logical Theory,"  "  may  be  defined  a  Permanent  Possibility 
of  Sensation.  If  I  am  asked  whether  I  believe  in  matter,  I 
ask  whether  the  questioner  accepts  this  definition  of  it.  If  lie 
does,  I  believe  in  matter  ;  and  so  do  all  Berkeleyans.  In  any 
other  sense  than  this,  I  do  not.  But  I  affirm  with  confidence, 
that  this  conception  of  Matter  includes  the  whole  meaning  at- 
tached to  it  l>y  the  common  world,  apart  from  philosophical, 
and  sometimes  from  theological,  theories." 

Here  is  an  implied  assertion,  that  his  definition  of  Matter 
coincides  with  Berkeley's  doctrine  of  Idealism ;  and  a  direct 


MILL   ON   HAMILTON.  309 

assertion,  that  it  includes  the  whole  meaning  attached  to  the 
conception  of  Matter  by  ordinary  people,  who  are  neither 
philosophers  nor  theologians.  We  dispute  both  positions. 
Bishop  Berkeley  affirms  the  necessity  of  a  Cause,  an  Efficient 
Cause,  to  account  for  the  ideas  or  sensations  in  our  minds; 
and  as  he  says  "  there  is  nothing  of  power  or  agency  "  in  the 
ideas  themselves,  as  "  it  is  impossible  for  an  idea  to  do  any- 
thing, or,  strictly  speaking,  to  be  the  cause  of  anything,"  he 
has  a  right  to  conclude,  as  he  does,  "  there  is  therefore  some 
cause  of  these  ideas,  whereon  they  depend,  and  which  pro- 
duces and  changes  them."  This  cause  he  elsewhere  affirms  to 

O 

be  a  mind  or  spirit,  since  he  can  have  "  no  notion  of  any  ac- 
tion distinct  from  volition,  neithqr  can  I  conceive  of  volition 
to  be  anywhere  but  in  a  spirit ;  "  therefore,  "  I  assert  as  well 
as  you,  that  since  we  are  affected  from  without,  we  must  allow 
poivers  to  be  tvithout,  in  a  being  distinct  from  ourselves.'1''  The 
ideas  imprinted  on  my  senses,  he  argues  further,  "  are  not  creat- 
ures of  my  will ;  there  is,  therefore,  some  other  will  or  spirit 
that  produces  them."  Berkeleyan  Idealism,  then,  affirms  the 
principle  of  causality,  and  thereby  proves  the  existence  of  a 
Not-Self,  —  of  a  Divine  mind,  and  other  human  minds  besides 
my  own  ;  it  denies  material  substance,  but  affirms  spiritual 
causation  and  the  efficiency  of  volition.  Mr.  Mill  repudiates 
Efficient  Causation  altogether  ;  and  by  admitting  the  exist- 
ence only  of  Sensations  and  Possibilities  of  Sensations,  he  un- 
peoples the  universe,  and  leaves  his  single  '-thread  of  con- 
sciousness "  alone  in  creation.  Berkeley  spiritualizes  Matter  ; 
Mill  annihilates  it. 

The  progenitor  and  sponsor  of  Mill's  system  is  not  Bishop 
Berkeley,  but  David  Hume,  who  taught  that  "  nothing  is  ever 
present  to  the  mind  but  perceptions,"  and  that  "  it  is  impos- 
sible for  us  to  conceive  or  form  an  idea  of  anything  specifi- 
cally different  from  ideas  and  impressions."  Setting  aside 
some  metaphysicians,  he  thinks  he  "•  may  venture  to  affirm  of 
the  rest  of  mankind,  that  they  are  nothing  but  a  bundle  or 
collection  of  different  perceptions,  which  succeed  each  other 
with  an  inconceivable}  rapidity,  and  are  in  a  perpetual  flux 
and  movement."  "  The  mind,"  he  affirms,  "  is  a  kind  of 
theatre,  where  several  perceptions  successively  make  their  ap- 


310  MILL   ON   HAMILTON. 

pearance,  pass,  repass,  glide  away,  and  mingle  in  an  infinite 
variety  of  postures  and  situations.  There  is  properly  no  sim- 
plicity in  it  at  one  time,  nor  identity  in  different  [times]  ; 
whatever  natural  propension  we  may  have  to  imagine  that 
simplicity  and  identity.  The  comparison  of  the  theatre  must 
not  mislead  us.  They  are  the  successive  perceptions  only  that 
constitute  the  mind ;  nor  have  we  the  most  distant  notion  of 
the  place  where  these  scenes  are  represented,  or  of  the  mate- 
rials of  which  it  is  composed." 

Just  as  little  can  the  "  Psychological  Theory  "  be  sheltered 
under  the  common  opinion  on  this  subject  entertained  by  the 
vulgar.  Ordinary  people  certainly  attribute  their  sensations 
to  some  Cause  operating  upon  their  organs  from  tvithout ;  and 
this  Cause  they  believe  to  be  something,  they  know  not  what, 
the  unknown  seat  or  substratum  of  the  qualities  which  affect 
their  senses.  The  notions  of  Efficient  Cause  and  Substance, 
far  from  being  mere  "  metaphysical  entities  "  excogitated  by  a 
few  philosophers  and  theologians,  must  be  classed  among  the 
most  primitive  and  familiar  impressions  and  beliefs  of  the 
great  bulk  of  mankind.  Mr.  Mill's  doctrine  is  the  metaphys- 
ical refinement ;  that  which  he  impugns  is  the  common  be- 
lief of  all  men,  except  a  few  philosophers. 

Whatever  evidence  there  may  be,  on  the  ordinary  or  Intu- 
itional theory,  "  that  I  have  any  fellow-creatures,  or  that  there 
are  any  Selves  except  mine,"  says  Mr.  Mill,  "  exactly  that 
same  evidence  is  there  "  of  the  existence  of  these  other  Selves 
on  the  Psychological  Theory.  We  deny  that  his  doctrine  af- 
fords him  any  such  evidence,  or  even  authorizes  him  to  trust 
his  memory,  to  admit  his  own  personal  identity,  or  to  enter- 
tain any  expectation  whatever.  If  we  know  nothing  but  sen- 
sations or  feelings,  occurring  singly  or  in  groups,  together 
with  their  sequences,  coexistences,  and  similitudes,  and  are 
not  at  liberty  to  assume  any  cause  for  these  phenomena,  other 
than  their  invariable  antecedents  and  concomitants,  then  we 
cannot  knoiv  even  the  poor  "  thread  of  consciousness "  to 
which  Mr.  Mill  has  reduced  his  own  individual  being.  His 
own  Mind  may  be  a  string  of  beads,  but  it  is  one  which  is 
constantly  slipping  through  his  fingers,  since  he  grasps  it  only 
by  one  bead  at  a  time,  neither  the  past  nor  the  future  being 


MILL   ON   HAMILTON.  311 

in  any  manner  present  to  consciousness.  We  have  no  better 
right  to  infer  the  actual  existence  of  the  Past  from  a  present 
consciousness  which  merely  represents  that  Past,  than  we  have 
to  infer  the  existence  of  the  table,  as  an  external  reality,  from 
the  consciousness  of  the  sensations  which  we  believe  the  table 
excites.  On  this  point,  Hume  is  consistent  and  logical,  while 
Mill  is  the  reverse.  If  Perception,  which  is  a  continuous 
phenomenon,  the  sensations  abiding  till  we  voluntarily  turn 
away  from  the  object  that  produces  them,  — if  Perception,  we 
say,  plays  us  false,  what  better  guaranty  have  we  of  the  faith- 
fulness of  Memory,  which  is  avowedly  nothing  but  a  mental 
picture,  a  mere  representative  image,  and  comparatively  a 
faint  one,  of  what  is  past  and  gone?  The  cardinal  feature  of 
Mr.  Mill's  theory  is,  that  a  phenomenon  avouches  incontest- 
ably  nothing  but  its  own  phenomenal  existence  and  character- 
istics. We  might  as  well  admit  our  own  causative  energy, 
though,  according  to  Mi\  Mill,  we  have  direct  evidence  only 
of  the  effects  produced  by  it,  as  admit  the  reality  of  a  Past,  of 
which  only  an  adumbration  now  floats  before  consciousness. 
The  irresistible  character  of  the  belief  which  accompanies  it  is 
no  valid  evidence  before  the  court  where  Mr.  Mill  presides  ; 
such  testimony,  in  the  case  of  Perception,  he  rules  out  without 
ceremony. 

Besides  the  permanent  group  of  Possibilities  of  Sensation, 
which  he  calls  his  own  body,  Mr.  Mill  argues  that  there  are 
other  similar  groups,  representing  other  human  bodies,  each 
exhibiting  a  set  of  phenomena  such  as  he  knows,  in  his  own 
case,  to  be  effects  of  consciousness,  "  and  such  as  might  be 
looked  for,  if  each  of  the  bodies  has  really  in  connection  with  it 
a  world  of  consciousness."  But,  to  him,  these  groups  are  only 
forms  of  the  E</o,  and  cannot  be  resolved  into  a  Non-Ego, 
except  by  admitting  the  doctrine  of  Efficient  Causation,  or  of 
immediate  perception,  or  of  that  irresistible  but  inexplicable 
belief  which  is  only  another  name  for  knowledge,  or  of  an  a 
priori  law  of  thought.  Through  dwelling  upon  the  doctrine 
that  Matter  is  only  a  name  for  an  aggregate  of  possible  sen- 
sations, he  has  so  far  objectified  the  group  in  his  own  concep- 
tion of  it,  as  to  forget  the  subjective  character  of  all  the  ele- 
ments of  which  it  is  composed.  But  it  is  objectified  only  in 


312  MILL   ON   HAMILTON. 

thought ;  it  is  a  mere  subject-object.  A  Possibility  of  Sen- 
sation is  only  his  expectation  (a  pure  state  of  his  own  mind), 
that  the  given  Sensation  (another  mental  state)  will  revive 
under  certain  circumstances. 

Mr.  Mill  was  betrayed  into  the  inconsistency  of  admitting 
"  memories  and  expectations  "  into  that  thread  of  conscious- 
ness which  composes  the  mind's  phenomenal  life,  through  the 
exigencies  of  the  case  ;  for,  of  course,  without  remembrance 
and  anticipation,  no  inductive  reasoning  would  be  possible, 
and  there  would  be  no  experience  beyond  that  of  the  present 
moment.  This  is  the  gulf  of  utter  scepticism  into  which 
Hume  willingly  plunged.  Mr.  Mill  struggles  bravely  to  get 
out  of  it,  but  his  own  consistency  must  be  sacrificed  before  he 
can  gain  foothold  on  the  solid  ground  above.  For  what  are 
these  "memories  and  expectations?"  "In  themselves,"  he 
rightly  says,  "  they  are  present  feelings,  states  of  present  con- 
sciousness, and  in  that  respect  not  distinguished  from  sensa- 
tions." But  he  adds,  "  They  all,  moreover,  resemble  some 
given  sensations  or  feelings,  of  which  we  have  previously  had 
experience ;  "  and  each  of  them,  also,  "involves  a  belief  in  more 
than  its  own  present  existence." 

How  does  Mr.  Mill  know  that  they  "  resemble  "  some  of  our 
former  sensations,  since  these  previous  phenomena  are  not 
now  before  us  ?  And  what  guaranty  has  he  of  the  validity  of 
that  "  belief,"  by  which  they  are  accompanied  ?  True,  they 
affirm  such  resemblance,  and  assert  this  belief.  But  Mr.  Mill, 
in  other  cases,  has  refused  even  to  listen  to  such  allegations. 
The  presence  of  the  sensation  is  an  immediate  datum  of  con- 
sciousness ;  but  the  validity  of  any  knowledge,  assertion,  or  be- 
lief implied  in  that  sensation,  or  inseparately  associated  with 
it,  is  not  an  immediate  datum  of  consciousness,  and  cannot  be 
admitted  without  building  up  again  that  real  objective  world, 
both  of  Matter  and  Mind,  which  the  "  Psychological  Theory  " 
has  resolved  into  a  mere  dream.  There  is  110  reason,  then, 
why  Mr.  Mill  should  hesitate,  at  the  last  moment,  to  carry 
out  his  theory  of  the  Mind  or  Ego  to  its  farthest  consequences. 
There  is  no  "  inexplicable  fact "  in  the  case.  The  presence  of 
alleged  "  memories  and  expectations  "  in  the  series  ought  not 
to  have  perplexed  him,  any  more  than  the  presence  of  alleged 
"  perceptions." 


MILL   ON   HAMILTON.  313 

We  can  learn  that  another  mind  is  acting  near  us  only  from 
sensible  evidence  of  the  presence  and  actions  of  another  body 

—  a  tall,  featherless  biped  —  now  affecting  our  faculties  of  sight 
and  touch.-    Taking  for  granted  the  actual  existence  of  this 
biped,  Mr.  Mill  argues  that  the  similarity  of  its  outward  form, 
and  actions  to  those  of   my  own  body,  and  my  consciousness 
that  my  actions  are  connected  with  my  thoughts  and  volitions, 
authorize  me  to  conclude,  by  legitimate    inductive  evidence, 
that  the  biped's  actions  are  connected  with  his  thoughts  ;  that 
he,    also,  has  a  Mind.     Furthermore,  he   affirms,  that  having 
supposed  the  biped  possesses  thoughts  and  feelings  similar  to 
my  own,  "  I  find  that  my  subsequent  consciousness  presents 
those  very  sensations,  of  speech  heard,  of  movements  and  other 
outward  demeanor  seen,  and  so  forth,  which,  being  the  effects 
or  consequents  of  actual  feelings  in  my  own  case,  I  should  ex- 
pect to  follow  upon  those  other  hypothetical  feelings   [of  the 
biped],  if  they  really  exist;   and  thus  the  hypothesis  is  ver- 
ified." 

But  this  argument  is  open  to  two  fatal  objections. 

1.  What  right  have  I  to  take  for  granted  the  real  presence 
before  me  of   one  mass  of  matter —  the   biped,  —  when  I  deny 
the  real  presence  of  another  aggregation  of  matter  —  the  desk, 

—  the  evidence  for  the  existence  of  the  two  being  avowedly  the 
same,  —  namely,  the  existence  of  a  group  of  sensations,  and  be- 
lieved possibilities  of  sensations,  in  my  own  mind;  or,  rather, 
the  existence  of  them  somewhere,  though  in  no  definite  local- 
ity;  since  Mr.  Mill  is  by  no   means  sure  of   the  reality  of  his 
own  Mind  or  Self,  and  does  not  believe  the  real  externality  to 
us  of  anything,  "  except  other  minds  ?  "    It  seems  a  paradoxical 
distinction,  by  the  by,  to  assert  the  externality  —  that  is,  the 
existence  in  space  —  of  other  minds,  and  to  deny  the  exter- 
nality of  all  bodies,  his  own  included. 

2.  The  correspondence  of  the  relation  between  the  observed 
actions  and  supposed  feelings  of  the  biped  with  the  relation 
between  my  own  actions  and  feelings,  can  be  affirmed  only  on 
the  ground  of  my  remembrance  of  the  manner  in  which  I  acted 
and   was  affected  on   a   previous  occasion,  when    the  circum- 
stances were  similar.     To  borrow  an  illustration   adopted  by 
Mr.  Mill  from  one  of  his  critics,  if  the  biped  screams  when  he 


314  MILL   ON  HAMILTON. 

cuts  his  finger,  I  can  infer  that  he  feels  pain,  only  because  I 
remember  what  my  own  feelings  were,  some  time  ago,  when  I 
experienced  a  similar  accident.  But  Memory,  we  repeat,  is  a 
witness  that  has  been  turned  out  of  court,  and  cannot  bear 
witness  to  the  similarity  either  of  the  feelings,  or  of  the  cir- 
cumstances that  generated  the  feelings. 

Mr.  Mill  repeatedly  charges  his  critics  with  inability  to 
think  themselves  fully  into  the  theory  which  they  deny,  or  to 
form  that  accurate  and  entire  conception  of  it  which  is  neces- 
sary before  it  can  be  fairly  judged.  We  fear  the  accusation 
may  be  retorted  ;  for  it  does  not  seem  that  he  himself  is  always 
fully  aware  of  the  narrowness  of  the  basis  on  which  his  theory 
rests,  and  of  the  consequent  difficulty  of  enlarging  it  enough 
to  meet  all  the  exigencies  of  the  case.  He  does  not  always  re- 
member that,  to  him,  the  universe  must  be  contained  within 
the  limits  of  his  own  consciousness  at  any  one  moment.  He 
has  before  him,  not  a  record  of  the  whole,  or  any  considerable 
portion,  of  the  history  of  his  consciousness,  but  only  an  almost 
momentary  glimpse  of  its  condition  and  contents  at  the  in- 
stant of  observation,  this  picture  fading  out  entirely  when 
succeeded  by  another  of  the  series.  That  some  of  these  states 
of  his  own  mind  report  themselves,  when  thus  observed,  as 
"  memories  "  and  "  expectations,"  is  a  fact  of  no  more  impor- 
tance than  the  corresponding  one,  that  others  give  themselves 
out,  with  equal  strength  of  assertion,  as  "internal"  and  "ex- 
ternal "  states  of  consciousness,  or  as  forms  of  the  Ego  or  the 
Non-Ego.  He  must  admit  that  imagination  can  simulate  the 
Past  at  least  as  perfectly  as  the  Present.  The  "  expectation  " 
cannot  even  be  justified  by  the  subsequent  event;  for  when 
that  event  comes  round,  the  expectation  of  it  already  exists 
only  in  memory. 

Let  us  now  go  back  for  a  moment  to  Mr.  Mill's  doctrine  of 
empiricism,  —  to  his  attempt  to  account  for  the  presence  of 
necessary  and  universal  truths  in  the  human  mind,  not  by  trac- 
ing them,  after  the  manner  of  Leibnitz  and  Kant,  to  a  priori 
laws  of  human  thought,  but  by  trying  to  generate  them  from 
experience  through  the  law  of  Inseparable  Association.  It  is 
unlucky  that  he  allows  himself  to  be  so  far  heated  by  oppo- 
sition as  to  lose  caution  in  the  statement  of  his  extreme  opin- 


MILL   ON  HAMILTON.  315 

ions,  and  to  express  himself  in  a  tone  of  far  more  confident 
dogmatism  about  those  doctrines  which  he  espouses  against 
the  authority  of  nearly  all  the  great  metaphysicians  of  an  ear- 
lier day,  than  on  those  points  where  the  authority  both  of 
philosophers  and  of  the  world  at  large  is  certainly  in  his  favor. 
In  this  respect,  he  often  reminds  us  of  Hobbes,  who  was  never 
more  vehement  and  dogmatic  than  in  defending  his  solution 
of  the  difficulty  of  squaring  the  circle.  We  have  had  one 
amusing  instance  of  this  peculiarity  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Mill, 
in  his  sweeping  and  almost  fierce  statement  of  the  conceiva- 
bility  of  Infinite  Space.  The  following  is  intended  to  be  an 
equally  resolute  and  thorough-going  expression  of  the  doc- 
trine of  empiricism  :  "  As  for  the  feeling  of  necessity,  or  what 
is  termed  a  necessity  of  thought,  it  is  (as  I  have  already  ob- 
served), of  all  mental  phenomena  positively  the  one  which  an 
inseparable  association  is  the  most  evidently  competent  to 
generate."  When  a  disputant  has  thus  gallantly  thrown 
away  the  scabbard,  it  seems  almost  a  pity  to  remind  him, 
that  his  very  statement  of  the  question  precludes  the  possibil- 
ity of  his  finding  an  opponent.  Of  course,  if  two  ideas  are 
inseparably  associated,  it  is  a  "  necessity  of  thought "  to  think 
them  together  ;  one  might  as  well  declare,  with  great  empha- 
sis, that  two  and  two  do  make  four.  The  real  question  is, 
whether  mere  experience  of  the  simultaneity,  or  immediate 
consecutiveness,  of  two  thoughts  can  be  so  uniform,  and  so 
many  times  repeated,  as  to  make  it  impossible  to  think  one 
without  the  other  ;  or,  in  other  words,  to  generate  an  insepa- 
rable association  between  them.  Mr.  Mill  affirms  that  it  can  ; 
Leibnitz,  Kant,  Hamilton,  and  many  others,  say  that  it  can- 
not. 

The  Leibnitzian  doctrine  is  well  expressed  by  Mr.  Mansel, 
"  that  whatever  truths  we  are  compelled  to  admit  as  every- 
where and  at  all  times  necessary,  must  have  their  origin,  not 
without,  in  the  laws  of  the  sensible  world,  but  within,  in  the 
constitution  of  the  mind  itself."  All  attempts,  he  adds,  to 
trace  such  cognitions  to  experience  and  the  association  of  ideas 
are  vain,  "  because  oilier  associations,  as  frequent  and  as  uni- 
form, are  Incapable  of  producing  a  higher  conviction  than  that 
of  a  relative  and  physical  necessity  only"  As  Mr.  Mill  admits 


316  MILL   ON   HAMILTON. 

the  fairness   and  sufficiency  of  this  test,  the  question  is  one 
which  can  be,  at  least  in  part,  decided  by  an  appeal  to  facts. 

A  necessary  conjunction  of  two  phenomena  or  ideas  is  one 
the  separation  of  which  is  impossible  even  in  thought.  A  ne- 
cessity of  thinking,  and  not  of  merely  acting  or  feeling,  in  a 
certain  manner,  is  what  we  are  now  concerned  with.  Hamil- 
ton asserts  that  "  the  necessity  of  so  thinking  cannot  be  de- 
rived from  a  custom  of  so  thinking,"  and  that  "  the  customary 
never  reaches,  never  even  approaches,  to  the  necessary."  Mill 
cites  in  reply  the  instance  of  the  paviour,  who  "  cannot  "  use 
his  rammer  without  crying  "  ha  !  "  and  of  the  orator,  who  was 
unable  to  speak  without  twirling  a  string  round  his  finger,  as 
"  examples  of  a  customary  which  did  approach  to,  and  even 
reach,  the  necessary."  We  submit  that  both  cases  are  irrele- 
vant, since  the  alleged  inability  was  only  one  of  acting  with- 
out the  usual  trick,  while  both  parties  were  perfectly  able  to 
imagine  themselves  acting  either  with  or  without  the  ordinary 
accompaniment.  Equally  irrelevant  are  the  instances  cited  of 
irrepressible  emotion  produced  by  revisiting  the  scenes  where 
great  fright  or  great  sorrow  had  been  experienced  ;  the  very 
effort  the  sufferers  made  to  control  their  feelings  proves  that 
they  could  and  did  imagine  this  effort  to  be  successful. 

1.  Two  straight  lines,  which  are  parallel  in  any  portion  of 
their  length,  cannot  meet,  however  far  extended  in  either  di- 
rection ;  that  is,  cannot  inclose  a  space.     This  is  an  absolute 
necessity  of    thought,  since  its  contradictory  cannot  even  be 
imagined.     Moreover,  it  is  easily  cognized  as  necessary,  even 
by  a  youth  who  has  just  been  so  far  introduced  to  the  mere 
elements  of  geometry  as  to  fully  know  what  parallelism  means ; 
who    has    consequently    had    comparatively    little    experience, 
either  through  his  senses  or  his  imagination,  of  parallel  lines  ; 
who  has  never  seen  or  imagined  such  lines  extended,  except  to 
a  very  short  distance ;  and  who,  indeed,  has  been  most  con- 
versant with  apparent  exceptions  to  the  truth,  as  in  looking 
up  a  long  street,  bridge,  or  railroad,  where  perspective  seems 
to  bring  the  two  lines  together.     Here,  then,  is  a  necessary 
truth  preceded  by  so  little  experience  that  it  cannot  have  been 
generated  by  association. 

2.  On  the  other  hand,  uniform  experience,  repeated  almost 


MILL    ON   HAMILTON.  317 

every  moment  of  our  lives,  assures  us  that  all  bodies  gravitate, 
so  that,  (in  the  case  of  terrestrial  bodies,)  if  left  unsupported, 
they  fall  or  sink  to  the  ground  or  bottom  ;  and  the  apparent 
exceptions  to  this  law,  as  in  the  case  of  a  balloon  rising  in  the 
air,  and  of  corks  or  other  light  substances,  perhaps  simulating 
stones  in  appearance,  continuing  to  float  in  water,  are  few  and 
infrequent,  and  are  so  easily  and  fully  explained  away,  that 
they  are  properly  classed  with  those  exceptions  which  confirm 
the  rule.  Yet  it  is  perfectly  easy  to  imagine  the  contradic- 
tory of  this  law,  —  that  material  substances  should  not  fall, 
but  remain  suspended  in  space  ;  or,  if  they  did  move,  that  they 
should  not  fall  doivnwards,  but  sidewise,  in  any  horizontal  di- 
rection, or  upwards.  Even  Mr.  Mill  admits  that  he  can  with- 
out difficulty  "  form  the  imagination  of  a  stone  suspended  in 
the  air."  In  this  case,  therefore,  unbroken  and  multiplied  ex- 
perience does  not  create  any  necessity  of  thought. 

Now  observe  the  inconsistency  of  Mr.  Mill's  reasoning  upon 
these  two  cases,  so  obviously  incompatible  with  his  theory. 
He  says,  that  my  inability  to  conceive  of  two  parallels  meeting 
is  not  removed  by  witnessing  numerous  cases  of  the  seeming 
convergence  of  two  such  lines ;  because  further  experience,  or 
a  moment's  consideration,  explains  the  illusion  of  the  appar- 
ent, but  unreal,  coming  together  of  the  lines.  Very  well ;  then 
illusory  appearances  to  the  contrary,  if  easily  explained  away, 
do  not  so  break  the  uniformity  of  the  association  as  to  prevent 
it  from  becoming  indissoluble.  And  yet,  in  the  case  of  the 
stone  falling  to  the  bottom  of  the  water,  he  affirms  that  our 
seeing  light  substances  simulating  stones  continue  to  float, 
though  readily  accounted  for,  is  enough  to  vitiate  the  other- 
wise uniform  testimony  of  experience,  and  therefore  to  prevent 
the  inseparable  association  from  being  formed.  It  is  a  poor 
rule  that  will  not  work  both  ways.  Why  does  not  the  correc- 
tion of  the  mistake,  and  the  consequently  proved  fact  that  the 
testimony  of  well-understood  experience  is  really  all  on  one 
side,  create  an  impossibility  of  conceiving  the  other  side  in  the 
case  of  the  stone,  as  well  as  in  that  of  the  parallel  lines  ? 

We  are  now  prepared  to  examine  Mr.  Mill's  mode  of  ex- 
plaining the  genesis  of  that  necessity  of  thought  which  we 
call  the  universal  Law  of  Causation.  It  is  an  irresistible  and 


318  MILL   ON  HAMILTON. 

universal  belief,  that  every  event,  every  change,  which  takes 
place  in  the  outer  world,  must  have  a  Cause.  "  In  the  outer 
world,"  we  say,  wishing  to  avoid,  for  the  present,  the  dispute 
as  to  the  universal  applicability  of  this  law  to  the  phenomena 
of  Mind.  But  no  one  disputes,  no  one  can  dispute,  the  neces- 
sity of  believing  that,  in  the  case  of  Matter,  no  change  can 
take  place  without  a  Cause.  Mr.  Mill  attempts  to  resolve  this 
law  into  mere  Invariability  of  Sequence.  Uniform  and  oft- 
repeated  experience,  he  says,  has  assured  us  that,  "  for  every 
event,  there  exists  some  combination  of  objects  or  events,  some 
given  concurrence  of  circumstances,  positive  and  negative,  the 
occurrence  of  which  will  always  be  followed  by  that  phenom- 
enon." Such  experience,  according  to  his  theory,  creates  an 
Inseparable  Association  in  the  mind  between  any  event  what- 
ever, and  some  Invariable  Antecedent  of  that  event.  Xo  mat- 
ter whether  we  have  yet  discovered  the  proper  Antecedent  of 
this  particular  phenomenon,  or  not.  The  mere  association  of 
ideas,  created  by  the  frequency  and  uniformity  of  experience 
in  similar  cases,  makes  it  impossible  for  us  not  to  believe  that 
there  is  such  an  Antecedent,  such  a  conjuncture  of  circum- 
stances, special  to  this  phenomenon,  to  be  found  somewhere. 

We  are  not  now  considering  the  objective  validity  of  this 
Law  of  Causation.  We  are  now  inquiring  only  about  the 
origin  of  that  necessity  of  Thouf/ht  which  compels  us  to  be- 
lieve that  there  must  be  such  a  Cause,  or  such  an  Invariable 
Antecedent,  for  every  phenomenon,  whether  it  has  yet  been 
discovered  or  not;  a  necessity  of  Thought  which  is  just  as 
incumbent  upon  the  thickest  skulled  rustic  as  upon  the  man 
of  science,  upon  the  boy  as  the  man,  upon  the  religious  mys- 
tic as  the  hard-headed  infidel ;  which  governed  the  thoughts, 
and  thereby  the  actions,  of  men,  just  as  absolutely  and  uni- 
versally before  the  time  of  Galileo  and  Bacon,  of  Archimedes 
and  Aristotle,  as  it  does  at  the  present  day.  Tell  the  dullest 
clodhopper,  or  the  clodhopper's  youngest  child,  that  the  chair 
has  fallen  down,  or  the  light  has  been  extinguished,  or  the 
pitcher  has  been  broken,  or  the  paper  has  taken  fire,  "  with- 
out a  Cause,"  and,  if  he  understands  the  meaning  of  your  words, 
he  will  believe  that  you  are  making  game  of  him.  Show  him 
any  strange  phenomenon  on  the  earth,  or  in  the  skies,  and 


MILL   ON   HAMILTON.  319 

his  first  inquiry  will  be,  —  "  What  makes  it  so  ?     What  causes 
it?" 

We  maintain  that  this  class  of  persons,  the  ignorant  and 
unthinking,  cannot  have  had  the  uniform  and  frequently-re- 
peated experience,  which  alone  could  create  in  their  minds  an 
indissoluble  association  between  any  new  phenomenon  and 
some  one  antecedent,  or  group  of  antecedents,  of  which  it  is 
the  special  and  invariable  consequent.  Nature  does  not  re- 
veal the  constancy  of  her  operations  to  unpractised  eyes  at 
the  first  glance.  She  rather  oppresses  the  untaught  mind 
with  a  sense  of  her  infinite  variety,  her  ceaseless  vicissitudes, 
her  inexhaustible  fertility  of  forms  and  diversity  of  motion 
and  operation.  Take  the  phenomena  which  lie  the  nearest,  so 
to  speak,  to  human  life  and  conduct :  the  phenomena  of  the 
weather  ;  of  health  and  disease  ;  of  good  and  bad  fortune  ;  of 
the  character  and  conduct  of  individual  men  ;  of  the  infinitely 
varied  forms  and  aspects  of  the  vegetable  and  animal  creation, 
and  the  contingencies  to  which  they  are  subject.  Xot  without 
reason  were  the  earliest  systems  of  religion,  devised  by  unin- 
•structed  intellects,  always  polytheistic,  such  minds  naturally 
seeking  causes  as  numerous  and  diversified  as  the  effects  at- 
tributed to  them,  finding  a  prototype  of  nature's  action  only 
in  the  endless  inconstancy  and  caprice  of  a  semi-human  will, 
and  therefore  peopling  the  mountains,  forests,  rivers,  seas,  and 
skies  with  an  innumerable  crowd  of  arbitrary  deities.  Surely 
the  most  extravagant  and  unreasonable  of  all  systems  of  phi- 
losophy is  that  which  would  attribute  the  universal  and  irre- 
sistible belief  in  the  necessity  and  uniformity  of  Causation,  to 
men's  unenlightened  experience  and  casual  observation  of  the 
workings  of  nature.  Such  a  belief,  could  it  be  formed  at  all 
in  the  mode  here  indicated,  would  be  the  latest  product  of  a 
mind  deeply  imbued  with  the  principles  and  results  of  mod- 
ern physical  science.  It  would  be  natural  to  man  only  in  the 
same  sense  in  which  every  man  is  naturally  an  expert  in  the 
differential  and  integral  calculus. 

The  empirical  theory  of  Causation  is  a  necessary  part  of 
that  doctrine  of  universal  scepticism,  according  to  which  there 
is  no  real  being,  no  universe  of  actual  existence,  outside  of  the 
individual  thinker's  own  consciousness  for  the  present  mo- 


820  MILL   ON   HAMILTON. 

ment.  Efficient  or  real  Causation  can  take  place  only  in  a 
real  universe,  where  there  is  something  to  act,  and  something 
to  be  acted  upon  or  produced ;  in  an  imaginary  universe,  a 
sphere  of  mere  thought,  such  Causation  is  a  mere  dream.  If 
that  which  is  called  a  real  "  object "  is  only  a  group  of  actual 
and  possible  sensations,  the  object  supposed  to  be  a  "cause" 
being  one  of  these  groups,  and  that  called  an  "  effect  "  another, 
then  the  relation  between  cause  and  effect  is  only  the  usual 
relation  between  two  immediately  consecutive  thoughts,  —  a 
relation  of  mere  customary  sequence,  by  virtue  of  which  one 
suggests  the  other,  without  having  the  slightest  real  power  or 
causal  efficiency  over  that  other. 

But  it  was  long  ago  remarked,  that  any  scheme  of  univer- 
sal scepticism  is  incoherent,  self-contradictory,  and  suicidal. 
It  is  either  a  baseless  assumption,  or  it  is  grounded  upon  rea- 
soning which  cannot  proceed  a  step  without  taking  for  granted 
the  very  intuitions,  or  fundamental  truths,  which  the  sceptic 
affects  to  deny  and  disprove.  That  in  reasoning  which  con- 
nects the  premises  with  the  conclusion,  or,  in  other  words, 
that  alone  which  makes  us  believe  the  conclusion,  is  a  Law  of 
Thought,  or  an  absolute  truth  intuitively  discerned,  which, 
as  a  ground  of  belief,  is  not  one  whit  stronger  —  nay,  is  not 
so  strong  —  as  that  other  necessity  of  Thought,  or  immediate 
intuition,  —  call  it  what  you  please,  —  which  compels  us  to 
believe  the  reality  of  the  Ego,  of  an  Efficient  Cause  as  a  Non- 
Ego  operating  upon  me  from  without,  and  the  externality,  in- 
destructibility, and  infinity  of  the  Space  in  which  the  Non-Ego 
exists.  As  all  reasoning  is  based  upon  necessities  of  Thought, 
it  cannot  be  used  to  disprove  them  ;  since  the  conclusion  thus 
obtained  affirms  the  falsity  of  the  premise  whence  it  was 
drawn,  and  we  should  thus  be  involved  in  a  perpetual  see-saw, 
as  in  the  famous  sophism  of  Epimenides. 

We  now  pass  to  that  portion  of  Mr.  Mill's  work  which  is 
the  principal  arena  for  "  the  Battle  of  the  two  Philosophies  ;" 
—  to  his  chapter  upon  the  Freedom  of  the  Will.  The  remark 
made  by  him  at  the  outset,  respecting  Hamilton's  doctrine 
upon  this  subject,  may  be  applied  with  far  more  justice  to  his 
own  system  of  Necessity,  (or  of  Moral  Causation,  if  he  chooses 
to  call  it  so,)  "  that  it  may  be  regarded  as  the  central  idea  of 


MILL   ON   HAMILTON.  321 

his  system  —  the  determining  cause  of  most  of  his  philosophical 
opinions."  He  first  finds  fault  with  Hamilton  for  putting  in 
"  a  claim  for  metaphysics,  grounded  on  the  Free-Will  doc- 
trine, of  being  the  only  medium  through  which  our  unassisted 
reason  can  ascend  to  the  knowledge  of  a  God."  A  remark  of 
this  sort  always  bring  out  all  the  irritability  of  Mr.  Mill,  as 
he  thinks  it  is  an  attempt  to  create  a  I'eligious  prejudice  in 
favor  of  a  metaphysical  theory  ;  and  he  therefore  denounces  it, 
as  "  not  only  repugnant  to  all  the  rules  of  philosophizing,  but 
a  grave  offence  against  the  morality  of  philosophic  inquiry." 

We  deny  the  justice  of  the  imputation,  and  question  the 
validity  of  the  canon  here  laid  down  to  restrict  the  range  of 
argumentation  in  philosophy.  In  the  passage  referred  to,  far 
from  attempting  to  excite  religious  prejudice,  Hamilton's 
main  purpose  is  to  vindicate  the  importance  and  dignity  of 
metaphysical  science,  not  only  in  itself  considered,  but  in  the 
logical  connection  of  its  doctrines  with  the  fundamental  no- 
tions in  other  sciences,  such  as  morality  and  religion,  of  the 
gravest  value  and  interest  to  man.  Who  ever  heard  that  it 
was  blameworthy  to  commend  any  science,  because  the  con- 
clusions to  which  it  led  the  inquirer  were  favorable  to  sound 
morals,  and  created  an  additional  safeguard  for  the  restraints 
of  conscience  ?  Why,  Mr.  Mill  himself  occupies  nearly  the 
whole  of  this  long  chapter  in  attempting  to  prove  that  his  own 
doctrine  of  Causation,  which  denies  the  Freedom  of  the  Will, 
is  perfectly  consistent  with  "  the  reality,  and  the  knowledge 
and  feeling,  of  moral  distinctions  ; "  since  these,  he  affirms, 
"  are  independent  of  any  theory  respecting  the  will."  And  he 
afterwards  remarks,  that  "  not  only  the  doctrine  of  Necessity, 
but  Predestination  in  its  coarsest  form,"  is,  in  his  view,  "in- 
consistent with  ascribing  any  moral  attributes  whatever  to  the 
Deity."  Now,  we  cannot  see  that  the  doctrine  thus  avowed 
by  himself  differs  one  iota  from  that  which  he  so  severely 
blames  Hamilton  for  teaching  ;  except  that  the  latter  takes 
for  granted,  what  indeed  is  obvious  to  common-sense,  that  a 
Deity  without  "  any  moral  attributes  whatever  "  is  no  Deity 
at  all.  It  would  be  harsh  to  say,  that  Mr.  Mill  here  either 
denies  this  common-sense  view  of  the  Divine  nature,  or  that 
he  believes  all  those  who  hold  the  doctrine  of  '•  Predestination 

21 


322  MILL   ON  HAMILTON. 

in  its  coarsest  form  "  are  Atheists.  Yet  such  a  construction 
of  his  language  would  be  far  more  natural  and  justifiable  than 
the  imputation  which  he  throws  upon  Hamilton,  of  attempt- 
ing to  defend  a  foregone  conclusion  by  exciting  a  religious 
prejudice.  In  the  passage  which  he  misrepresents,  though  of 
course  unintentionally,  Hamilton  does  not  say  that  metaphys- 
ics, or  the  free-will  doctrine,  is  "  the  only  medium,"  etc. ; 
but  having  previously  remarked  that  mind  itself  is  "  the 
noblest  object  of  speculation  which  the  created  universe  pre- 
sents to  the  curiosity  of  man,"  he  continues  the  argument  by 
asserting,  that  "  mind  rises  to  its  highest  dignity  when  viewed 
as  the  object  through  which,  and  through  which  alone,  our 
unassisted  reason  can  ascend  to  the  knowledge  of  a  God."  We 
may  seem  to  have  spent  too  many  words  upon  this  side  issue  ; 
but  in  assailing  the  opinions,  and  the  fairness  in  argument,  of 
a  philosopher  who  is  no  longer  here  to  defend  himself,  Mr. 
Mill  should  at  least  be  cautious  in  making  his  citations. 

We  admit  that  Mr.  Mill  is  justifiable  in  stating  his  convic- 
tion, that  the  doctrine  of  Necessity  is  inconsistent  with  the 
belief  that  the  Deity  has  any  moral  attributes  whatever, 
though  he  thereby  violates  his  own  assertion  respecting  the 
morality  of  philosophic  inquiry.  It  is  a  perfectly  legitimate 
argument  against  any  opinion,  to  urge  that  it  is  at  variance 
with  previously  established  truths  in  the  same,  or  another, 
science.  Thus,  a  psychological  theory  respecting  perception 
may  be  confuted  by  what  is  believed  to  be  &  physiological  fact. 
In  like  manner,  a  metaphysical  dogma  may  be  shaken  by 
proving  that  it  contradicts  what  are  held  to  be  well  established 
conclusions  in  theology.  This  point  is  so  evident  that  it  is 
fair  to  say  that  it  never  would  have  been  questioned  by  Mr. 
Mill,  had  he  not  been  so  sensitive  respecting  any  allusion  to 
religious  belief.  It  is  only  another  application  of  the  same 
kind  of  reasoning  to  declare,  what  an  invincible  law  of  our 

O  ' 

nature  compels  us  to  believe,  that  a  doctrine  which  leads  to 
pernicious  consequences  cannot  be  sound  doctrine.  A  theory 
in  political  science,  which,  like  that  of  Mandeville,  tends  to 
the  depravation  of  society,  must  be  a  false  theory.  So  an 
ethical  system,  which  would  make  men  worse  instead  of  bet- 
ter, must  be  based  on  wrong  principles,  or  made  out  by  un- 


MILL   ON   HAMILTON.  323 

sound  deduction.  There  is  a  reductio  ad  absurdum  in  mor- 
als, as  well  as  in  mathematics. 

Hamilton's  theory  of  the  conflicting  doctrines  of  Necessity 
and  Free  Will  is  one  application  of  his  Philosophy  of  the 
Conditioned,  —  that  both  doctrines  are  inconceivable,  but  as 
they  are  contradictories,  one  of  them  must  be  true ;  and  there- 
fore, as  the  inconceivability,  which  is  common  to  both,  does 
not  disprove  either,  we  must  believe  in  Free  Will,  which  has, 
what  the  other  has  not,  the  distinct  testimony  of  conscious- 
ness in  its  favor.  Mr.  Mill  opens  his  own  discussion  of  the 
question  with  his  usual  astuteness,  by  quoting  with  strong 
approbation  his  opponent's  argument  to  prove  the  inconceiv- 
ability of  Free  Will,  and  contemptuously  denying  or  disput- 
ing what  is  urged  to  establish  the  other  horn  of  the  dilemma, 
the  equal  inconceivability  of  the  doctrine  of  Necessity.  This 
is  a  fine  illustration  of  the  use  which  a  dextrous  disputant 
may  make  of  an  adversary's  labors ;  as  he  thereby  gets  the  ad- 
vantage of  many  strong  arguments  from  the  Hamiltonian  point 
of  view,  which  a  regard  for  consistency  with  other  portions  of 
his  own  opinions  would  not  allow  him  to  urge  in  his  own  per- 
son ;  and  he  also  has,  all  along,  the  air  of  proving  his  point 
out  of  his  antagonist's  own  mouth. 

When  it  is  urged  that  the  Fatalist  "  overlooks  the  equal,  but 
less  obtrusive,  inconceivability  of  an  infinite  non-commence- 
ment, on  the  assertion  of  which  non-commencement  his  own 
doctrine  of  Necessity  must  ultimately  rest,"  Mr.  Mill  tartly  re- 
plies, "  It  rests  on  no  such  thing,  if  he  believes  in  a  First  Cause, 
u'hich  a  Necessitarian  may."  Is  he  serious  in  making  this  ex- 
traordinary admission,  whereby  he  abandons  the  whole  pre- 
ceding argument  ?  A  First  Cause  is  an  uncaused  volition ; 
and  if  the  possibility  of  this  is  admitted,  there  is  no  longer 
any  ground  for  controversy,  and  the  Free  Will  doctrine  is  es- 
tablished. 

"  What  is  more,"  continues  Mr.  Mill,  "  even  if  he  does  not 
believe  in  a  First  Cause,  he  makes  no  assertion  of  non-com- 
mencement ;  he  only  declines  to  make  an  assertion  of  com- 
mencement." What  a  hard-pushed  disputant,  who  is  willing 
to  shut  his  eyes  to  the  logical  consequences  of  his  own  asser- 
tions, may  do  or  "  decline"  to  do,  is  a  point  not  worth  con 


324  MILL   ON  HAMILTON. 

sidering.  But  nothing  can  be  more  certain,  than  that  the 
doctrine  of  an  "  absolute  commencement,"  and  that  of  an  "  in- 
finite non-commencement,"  can  be  shown,  on  the  Necessita- 
rian's own  hypothesis,  to  be  two  contradictories ;  so  that,  if 
there  is  any  truth  in  logic,  the  disputant  is  not  at  liberty  to 
deny  one,  and  "decline  to  make  an  assertion"  of  the  other; 
for  one  of  them  MUST  be  true.  According  to  Mr.  Mill's  own 
doctrine  of  "  Moral  Causation,"  every  phenomenon  is  both  a 
Cause  of  its  Invariable  Consequent,  and  an  Effect  of  its  Invari- 
able Antecedent ;  and  this  Antecedent,  again,  is  an  Effect  of  its 
Antecedent,  and  so  on  forever.  This  series  of  Antecedents 
must  be  infinite  ;  for  if  we  stop  at  any  one  Antecedent,  whether 
near  or  remote,  that  one  is  an  absolute  commencement,  or 
First  Cause,  and  we  are  impaled  on  the  other  horn  of  the 
dilemma.  Mr.  Mill  may  take  his  stand  with  Hegel,  and  dis- 
pute the  validity  of  the  law  of  Excluded  Middle  ;  but  other- 
wise, he  is  not  logically  entitled  to  deny  the  one  contradictory, 
and  yet  "  decline  to  make  an  assertion  "  of  the  other. 

We  affirm,  with  Hamilton,  that  we  are  held  to  this  alter- 
native, an  uncaused  commencement  or  an  infinite  regress,  in 
all  cases  of  Causation  whatsoever.  But  Mr.  Mill  alleges  that, 
in  the  case  of  all  other  facts  except  volitions,  we  accept  the 
supposition  of  "  a  regress,  not  indeed  to  infinity,  but  either 
generally  into  the  region  of  the  Unknowable,  or  back  to  a 
Universal  Cause  ;  "  and  as  we  are  concerned  with  such  a  Cause 
only  in  relation  to  its  Consequents,  and  not  in  relation  to 
its  Antecedents,  "  we  can  afford  to  consider  this  reference  as 
ultimate.'''' 

A  Kentuckian  would  certainly  call  this  doctrine  a  "  coming 
out-  through  a  very  small  hole."  The  question  is  not  what 
"we  can  afford"  to  do,  but  what,  as  philosophers,  we  are 
logically  bound  to  do,  in  order  to  satisfy  all  the  requisites  of 
the  theory  which  we  adopt,  according  to  the  most  comprehen- 
sive view  that  can  be  taken  of  those  requisites.  It  is  true 
that  the  student  of  mere  physical  science,  who  is  concerned 
only  with  proximate  causes,  is  entitled  to  stop  when  he  has 
reached  this  nearest  goal,  not  because  it  is  impossible,  or  even 
undesirable,  to  go  farther,  but  because  it  is  not  the  function 
of  this  particular  physical  science,  of  which  he  is  an  adept,  to 


MILL   ON  HAMILTON.  325 

trace  the  links  of  connection  with  what  lies  beyond.  Thus, 
having  succeeded  in  tracing  a  given  phenomenon  to  the  law  of 
gravitation,  or  to  that  of  chemical  affinity,  he  stops  there,  be- 
cause these  laws,  to  the  special  sciences  of  mechanics  and 
chemistry,  are  ultimate.  Not  so  with  the  metaphysician  or 
philosopher,  \vho,  under  penalty  of  being  pronounced  incom- 
petent and  degraded  from  office,  is  bound  to  follow  his  theory, 
up  or  down,  to  "  first  principles,"  or  the  remotest  conceivable 
antecedents  and  consequents  ;  for  his  is  emphatically  the  sci- 
ence of  "  first  principles."  Having  begun  with  the  assertion 
that  this  round  world  needs  support  of  one  sort  or  another, 
and  then  having  shown  that  it  rests  on  an  elephant,  and  that 
the  elephant  stands  on  a  tortoise,  he  is  not  entitled,  when 
asked,  "  But  what  does  the  tortoise  stand  on  ?  "  to  answer, 
"  We  can  afford  to  consider  this  basis  of  support  as  ultimate." 
In  tracing  the  chain  of  Causation,  he  who  stops  at  any  point 
short  of  infinity  necessarily  admits  a  First  Cause  at  this  point, 
and  therefore  might  just  as  well  have  admitted  such  a  Cause 
at  the  outset. 

Bringing  down  the  discussion  to  the  range  of  facts,  Mr. 
Mill  denies  that  I  am  directly  conscious  of  the  freedom  of  my 
will,  on  the  ground  that  "  what  I  am  able  to  do,  is  not  a  sub- 
ject of  consciousness,"  but  only  what  I  actually  do  or  feel ; 
"consciousness,"  he  insists,  "is  not  prophetic;  we  are  con- 
scious of  what  is,  not  of  what  will  or  can  be." 

But  in  this  argument  he  assumes  the  whole  ground  at  is- 
sue ;  blinded  by  his  own  theory,  that  Causes  can  be  known 
only  through  or  from  their  Effects,  he  assumes  that  Ability 
or  Power  can  only  be  inferred  from  the  results  of  its  com- 
ing into  action,  and  therefore  cannot  become  known  in  it- 
self, previous  to  the  occurrence  of  these  results,  and  indepen- 
dently of  them.  We  deny  his  whole  theory  ;  we  deny  that 
consciousness  needs  to  be  "  prophetic,"  in  order  to  assure  us 
of  what  we  can  do.  Power,  as  well  as  its  opposite,  inability 
or  a  want  of  power,  is  a  present  phenomenon,  and  thus  is 
within  the  purview  of  consciousness.  Mr.  Mill,  as  we  have 
seen,  twice  appeals  to  the  consciousness  of  voluntary  "mental 
effort;"  and  what  possible  definition  can  be  given  of  effort, 
except  as  power  in  exercise?  Still  further;  consciousness 


326  MILL   ON   HAMILTON. 

would  not  need  to  be  prophetic,  even  if  it  were  only  from  its 
Effects  that  we  could  know  the  causative  power  of  the  Will ; 
for  the  necessary  simultaneity,  on  which  we  have  just  com- 
mented, of  an  Effect  with  its  Cause,  enables  us  to  be  con- 
scious, at  one  and  the  same  moment,  both  of  the  Effoi't  and 
of  its  success  or  failure.  "  Ability  and  force  are  not  real  en- 
tities," argues  Mr.  Mill.  Certainly  not ;  they  are  faculties  of 
the  mind,  and  we  are  directly  conscious  of  them  when  in  ex- 
ercise, just  as  we  are  conscious  of  fixing  the  attention,  or  con- 
trolling emotion,  by  a  strenuous  effort.  Even  in  the  case  of 
the  muscular  strain,  the  failure  of  the  endeavor  is  far  from 
negativing  the  consciousness  of  that  endeavor.  On  the  con- 
trary, a  strong  man  is  perhaps  never  so  fully  aware  of  the 
extent  of  his  powers,  as  when  he  has  attempted  to  accomplish 
some  remarkable  feat,  and  failed  ;  success  comes  before,  but 
failure  only  after,  he  has  put  forth  his  whole  strength.  To 
maintain  that  we  are  not  conscious  of  any  exertion,  and  do 
not  even  know  what  exertion  is,  until  the  results  inform  us  of 
its  success  or  failure,  is  to  contradict  the  plainest  testimony 
of  ordinary  consciousness,  and  to  utter  what  must  appear  a 
startling  paradox  even  to  the  vulgar. 

Observe,  however,  that  what  we  thus  strongly  assert  is  the 
ability  to  will,  not  the  ability  to  do,  or  accomplish  the  medi- 
tated feat ;  the  latter,  we  admit,  so  far  as  it  is  an  external  phe- 
nomenon, an  actual  contraction  of  the  muscles,  can  be  known 
only  through  its  results.  But  in  one  sense,  and  that  a  very 
important  one,  the  volition  is  the  action  or  the  doing,  in  its 
subjective  and  moral  aspect,  since  it  is  for  this  alone  that  con- 
science holds  us  responsible.  A  mere  volition  to  commit  mur- 
der is  murder,  before  God,  though  not  at  man's  tribunal ;  since 
we  can  know  the  volitions  of  our  fellow-man  only  by  their  re- 
sults, his  outward  acts. 

Mr.  Mill  denies  "  that  we  are  conscious  of  bein^r  able  to  act 

o 

in  opposition  to  the  strongest  present  desire  or  aversion.''  But 
in  proof  that  we  are  so  conscious,  one  of  his  critics  cites  the 
fact,  that  we  are  as  sensibly  exhausted  by  a  long  continued 
effort  to  resist  temptation,  as  after  any  physical  exertion ; 
whereas,  if  the  will  passively  followed  the  strongest  desire, 
there  would  be  no  occasion  for  any  effort,  but  the  volition  would 
be  determined  readily,  and  at  once,  just  as  the  balance  turns 


MILL   ON  HAMILTON.  327 

under  a  preponderant  weight  in  either  scale.  Mr.  Mill  replies, 
"  The  fact  is  not  quite  thus,  even  in  inanimate  nature  ;  the  hur- 
ricane does  not  level  the  house,  or  blow  down  the  tree,  without 
resistance;  even  the  balance  trembles  and  the  scales  oscillate 
for  a  short  time,  when  the  difference  of  the  weights  is  not  con- 
siderable." We  accept  the  parallel.  The  house  or  tree  does 
not  yield  to  the  wind  "  without  resistance,"  because  it  has  in- 
nate strength  in  itself  to  withstand  such  force  operating  upon 
it  from  without.  Grant  as  much  of  the  Will,  and  the  case  is 
decided  in  favor  of  its  freedom*  An  innate  power  to  "  resist" 
the  strongest  present  desire  must  be,  by  the  nature  of  the  case, 
a  power  self-determined  to  activity,  since  all  other  desires  then 
present  to  the  mind  are,  by  hypothesis,  weaker  than  the  one 
resisted.  Such  self-determination  is  further  indicated  by  the 
fact,  that  resistance  to  the  strongest  desire  is  offered  at  one  time, 
even  to  exhaustion,  but  entirely  withheld  at  another.  Not  so 
with  the  tree  or  house,  the  impediment  here  being  mere  stiff- 
ness or  passive  resistance,  and  therefore  always  manifested  to 
the  same  extent. 

We  have  no  space  left  for  following  Mr.  Mill  through  the 
weakest,  though  the  most  elaborately  argued,  portion  of  his 
book,  in  which  he  seeks  to  reconcile  a  denial  of  the  Freedom 
of  the  Will  with  the  consciousness  of  moral  responsibility,  and 
with  the  acknowledgment  of  the  justice  of  punishment  for 
wrong-doing.  Here  we  must  leave  him  to  his  other  critics  and 
to  the  common  sense  of  mankind,  to  which  we  may  boldly  ap- 
peal, for  the  instantaneous  rejection  of  a  doctrine  so  repugnant 
to  our  most  deeply  rooted  feelings  and  convictions,  that  sophis- 
try is  only  wasted  in  its  defence.  Such  sophistry  is  abundantly 
confuted  by  the  two  brief  and  simple  questions  put  by  Mr. 
Alexander,  in  his  late  work :  u  If  Physical  Causation  incapaci- 
tates the  Will  (and  therefore  makes  the  man  unpunishable)," 
and  Mr.  Mill  acknowledges  that  it  does,  "  must  not  moral  Cau- 
sation incapacitate  it  ?  And  if  not,  what  is  the  rational  ground 
of  the  distinction  ?  "  Being  under  physical  constraint,  the  man 
could  not  have  acted  otherwise  ;  following  his  moral  antece- 
dents, he  could  not  even  have  willed  to  act  otherwise.  Will 
you  dismiss  him  as  innocent  in  the  former  case,  and  punish  him 
as  guilty  in  the  latter?  He  who  can  answer  this  question  in  the 
affirmative,  is  prepared  to  adopt  Mr.  Mill's  theory  of  Ethics. 


THE   HUMAN   AND   THE   BRUTE   MIND. 

FROM    THE    PRINCETON    REVIEW    FOR    MAY,    1880. 

THE  question  whether  the  human  intellect  differs  from  the 
brute  mind  in  degree  only,  or  also  in  essence  and  kind,  is  not 
new  in  the  history  of  philosophy.  It  has  been  debated  with 
earnestness  in  every  age,  at  least  since  the  revival  of  letters. 
In  the  sixteenth  century,  Montaigne,  who  is  followed  by 
Charron  and  Gassendi,  undertakes  to  prove  that  there  is  a 
wider  interval  of  mental  power  between  one  man  and  another 
than  between  man  and  the  most  sagacious  brute.  In  his  usual 
fleering  and  sceptical  manner,  he  says,  we  must  push  man 
back  into  the  crowd  of  animals  from  which,  in  the  arrogance 
of  his  heart,  he  aspires  to  separate  himself.  In  fact,  so  far  as 
the  animal  acts  from  instinct,  Montaigne  declares,  it  is  the 
superior ;  since  it  then  accomplishes  at  once,  and  without  reflec- 
tion or  effort,  tasks  which  man  can  perform  only  imperfectly 
and  after  repeated  failures. 

In  the  next  century,  Descai'tes  went  just  as  far  into  the 
opposite  extreme,  when  he  maintained  that  brutes  are  mere 
automata,  destitute  not  only  of  intellect  and  feeling,  but  even 
of  life.  If  the  animal  goes  in  pursuit  of  any  object,  he  says, 
it  is  because  an  impression  has  been  made  upon  its  organs  of 
sense,  through  which  a  spring  is  put  in  motion,  that  propels 
the  beast  in  chase  just  as  mechanically  as  the  hands  of  a  watch 
travel  round  its  face  after  it  has  been  wound  up.  Its  inartic- 
ulate cries,  which  we  wrongly  interpret  as  signs  of  emotion, 
are,  like  the  striking  of  a  clock  at  determinate  intervals,  caused 
and  regulated  by  its  internal  machinery.  This  is  the  noted 
hypothesis  of  the  "  animal-machines,"  which  was  discussed  with 
so  much  spirit,  both  in  prose  and  verse,  especially  in  France, 
long  after  the  death  of  its  author.  Fontenelle,  though  a  Car- 


THE   HUMAN   AND   THE   BRUTE  MIND.  329 

tesian  in  other  respects,  took  sides  on  this  question  against  his 
master,  while  Pascal,  Malebranche,  and  the  Port  Royalists  de- 
fended the  doctrine  of  automatism.  Voltaire,  in  his  usual  mis- 
chievous spirit,  entered  into  the  dispute,  and  enjoyed  the  fun 
of  arguing  that  man  is  no  better  than  a  brute. 

In  our  own  day,  the  disciples  of  Herbert  Spencer,  and  the 
Evolutionists  generally,  take  sides  of  course  with  Montaigne, 
and  against  Descartes.  As  they  hold  that  all  modes  of  being 
and  forms  of  life,  from  the  lowest  to  the  highest,  are  succes- 
sively self-developed,  through  countless  slight  gradations,  from 
the  primitive  atoms  which  are  the  formless  elements  of  chaos, 
they  necessarily  believe  that  all  the  faculties  of  the  human 
mind  exist  also,  though  in  a  rudimentary  state,  in  the  mental 
constitution  of  the  inferior  animals,  and  may  even  be  traced  in 
imagination  much  farther  back,  to  the  mud  or  dust  whence 
those  brutes  originated.  In  his  "  Descent  of  Man,"  accordingly, 
Mr.  Darwin  assures  us  that  "the  difference  in  mind  between 
man  and  the  higher  animals,  great  as  it  is,  is  certainly  one  of 
degree,  and  not  of  kind."  In  the  affection  of  the  dog  for  his 
master,  for  instance,  he  beholds  the  rudiments  of  the  religious 
sentiment ;  in  the  social  instincts  he  finds  the  elements  of 
morality  ;  and  in  the  inarticulate  cries,  "  aided  by  gestures  and 
movements  of  the  muscles  of  the  face,"  by  which  animals  ex- 
press their  emotions,  he  detects  the  origin  of  language.  And 
Mr.  Huxley,  consistent  fatalist  as  he  is,  contrives  to  unite  the 
doctrine  of  Descartes  with  that  of  Montaigne,  by  maintaining 
that  man  also,  like  the  dog,  is  an  automaton  only  seemingly 
animate,  and  therefore  does  not  essentially  differ  from  the 
machine-brute  ;  since  the  higher  grade  of  evolution  that  he 
has  reached  sufficiently  accounts  for  what  appears  to  be  the 
greater  skill  expended  upon  his  construction. 

Not  much  light  is  thrown  upon  the  discussion  of  this  subject 
by  the  marvellous  stories,  of  which  so  many  are  current,  of  the 
signal  forethought,  prudence,  and  contrivance  shown  by  partic- 
ular animals  on  special  occasions.  Few  of  these  anecdotes  are 
so  well  authenticated  as  to  deserve  full  credit ;  and  they  would 
not  be  reported  but  for  their  exceptional  character.  But  only 
the  habitual  actions  of  the  animal  fully  evince  its  real  nature 
and  capacities ;  feats  which  it  may  be  trained  to  accomplish, 


330  THE   HUMAN   AND    THE   BRUTE   MIND. 

and  acts  done  under  an  unusual  combination  of  circumstances, 
and  seldom  or  never  repeated,  cannot  be  safely  interpreted  as 
proofs  of  intelligence.  Most  of  them  can  be  readily  explained 
away,  since  we  can  hardly  suppose  that  a  brute  is  any  wiser 
at  one  time  than  at  another,  or  that  one  can  be  much  distin- 
guished for  sagacity  above  his  fellows.  It  is  all  a  matter  of 
interpretation  and  rather  uncertain  inference,  since  we  know 
the  animal,  so  to  speak,  only  from  the  outside.  We  can  only 
guess  at  the  state  of  mind  which  impelled  it  to  perform  a  cer- 
tain act,  and  we  anthropomorphize  too  much  when  we  attrib- 
ute it  to  the  same  motive  and  prevision  which  would  induce  us 
to  do  likewise.  The  same  cry  or  gesture  may  spring  from 
very  different  emotions  under  different  circumstances,  when 
the  power  of  expression  is  very  limited  in  its  range.  Thus,  the 
barking  of  a  dog  may  be  either  a  cry  of  alarm,  a  note  of  defi- 
ance, an  outbreak  of  weariness,  or  an  invitation  to  joyous  frolic. 
In  all  these  cases,  the  dog  is  merely  giving  voice  indiscrimi- 
nately to  any  strong  emotion.  The  howling  of  the  same  ani- 
mal is  certainly  a  mournful  sound,  but  it  is  not  necessarily 
sadness  or  grief  that  makes  it  howl.  The  essence  of  language 
is  the  purpose  or  intention  to  communicate  definite  thought  or 
emotion  to  others,  and  not  the  mere  fact  that  the  feeling  is 
thus  imparted,  though  perhaps  unintentionally.  Through  its 
inarticulate  cries  and  gestures,  the  emotions  of  one  animal  may 
be  made  known  to  its  fellows,  and  may  thus  actually  spread  an 
alarm  among  them,  though  certainly  not  intended  as  a  signal 
of  danger,  since  the  same  cries  are  often  repeated  when  the 
animal  is  alone,  and  there  are  none  who  can  profit  by  the 
warning.  If  the  imprisoned  starling,  that  so  much  excited  the 
sickly  sensibility  of  Laurence  Sterne  by  its  pitiful  cry,  "  I 
can't  get  out,"  had  been  set  at  liberty  by  him,  it  would  still 
have  repeated  the  words  as  frequently  as  ever,  and  with  quite 
as  much  perception  of  their  actual  meaning. 

Let  us  attempt  to  clear  the  way  for  the  consideration  of  this 
difficult  question  by  first  enumerating  the  several  powers  and 
capacities  which  the  lower  animals  unquestionably  possess  in 
common  with  man.  "We  shall  thus  find  ample  grounds  for  our 
involuntary  sympathy  with  many  of  them,  and  shall  obtain  a 
clearer  understanding  of  the  remaining  points,  wherein  their 


THE   HUMAN  AND   THE   BRUTE   MIND.  331 

marked  deficiencies  consist.  In  the  first  place,  there  is  no  out- 
ward act  whatever,  considered  simply  as  an  exercise  of  nerves 
and  muscles,  which  brutes  cannot  perform  about  as  well  as 
man,  or  even  better.  They  leap,  run,  climb,  and  swim ;  they 
construct  their  homes,  continue  their  species,  and  provide  for 
their  young;  they  weep,1  howl,  and  even  articulate.  Judging 
from  the  indications  afforded  by  these  outward  acts,  we  have 
good  reason  to  conclude  that  the  senses  of  the  lower  animals, 
especially  those  of  vision,  hearing,  and  smell,  are  in  many 
cases  more  acute  and  far-reaching  than  ours.  It  is  equally 
evident  that  they  have  most  of  the  emotions  and  passions,  the 
desires  and  appetites,  which  incite  and  govern  human  conduct. 
They  love,  fear,  and  hate ;  they  are  angry,  emulous,  and  re- 
vengeful. They  are  capable  of  magnanimity,  and  often  clearly 
indicate  curiosity,  admiration,  and  ennui.  Most  of  them  are 
gregarious  in  their  habits ;  they  seek  the  company  of  their  fel- 
lows, aid  each  other,  are  fond  of  sport,  and  distinguish  their 
proper  food.  Their  parental  affections  are  very  strong,  leading 
almost  to  any  amount  of  self-sacrifice,  so  long  as  their  young 
need  care  and  protection ;  but  when  this  period  of  dependence 
is  outgrown,  they  seem  no  longer  even  to  recognize  their  off- 
spring. They  are  also  much  under  the  influence  of  habit,  and 
the  imitative  propensity  appears  clearly  in  many  of  them,  the 
possibility  of  domesticating  them,  and  training  them  to  the 
service  of  man,  depending  largely  upon  the  development  of 
these  two  traits. 

Passing  to  the  more  intellectual  part  of  their  nature,  it  is 
obvious  that  many  of  the  brutes  have  a  vivid  imagination,  and 
most  of  them  have  great  facility  in  recognizing  scenes  and  in- 
dividuals of  which  they  have  had  experience.  A  dog  asleep 
upon  the  rug  before  the  fire  shows,  by  growls  and  barks,  dis- 
tinctly enough,  that  he  is  stemming  again  in  fantasy  all  the 
currents  of  a  heady  fight.  Horses,  clogs,  and  cats  retrace  with 
great  precision  a  long  road  which  they  have  but  once  travelled 

1  At  least,  Shakespeare  declares  that  they  do,  and  I  hold  that  he  is  high  author- 
ity iu  natural  history.  lie  says  of  the  poor  wounded  stag,  that 

"  the  big  round  tears 

Cour?p<l  one  another  down  his  innocent  nose 
In  piteous  chase,-' 

aa  he  stood  on  the  verge  of  the  brook,  "augmenting  it  with  tears." 


332  THE   HUMAN  AND    THE   BRUTE   MIND. 

over,  and  never  fail  to  stop  at  the  gate  or  door  which  leads  to 
their  own  home.  The  doctor's  horse  knows  where  most  of  the 
pati^  its  live  as  well  as  the  doctor  himself.  I  do  not  here  al- 
lude to  any  of  the  cases  of  supposed  sagacity,  foresight,  and 
contrivance  which  are  clearly  attributable  to  instinct,  an  anom- 
alous faculty  with  which  all  the  lower  animals  are  specially 
endowed;  these  are  no  indications  of  intellect  properly  so 
called,  but  are  rather  proofs  of  the  absence  of  it,  or  of  some 
serious  defects  of  the  mental  constitution,  which  needs  to  be 
supplemented  by  the  action  of  so  wonderful  a  substitute  as 
this  for  reason  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  term.  Such  cases  will 
be  considered  hereafter  under  their  appropriate  head  as  mani- 
festations of  instinct. 

Animals  are  also  capable  of  mental  association,  though  they 
certainly  do  not  associate  ideas,  for,  as  will  be  shown  hereafter, 
they  have  no  ideas.  They  have  only  the  immediate  presenta- 
tion through  the  senses  of  particular  sights,  sounds,  odors,  etc., 
together  with  the  power  of  reviving  these  in  imagination,  of 
recognizing  them  as  sensations  formerly  experienced,  and  of 
associating  with  them  the  emotions  and  passions  with  which 
they  were  originally  accompanied.  This  is  the  simplest  kind 
of  association  ;  it  can  all  be  resolved  into  an  effect  of  habit, 
and  is  therefore  closely  akin  to  the  animal's  power  of  retracing 
the  road  which  it  has  once  travelled.  The  brute  associates 
strongly  the  passion  or  emotion  once  aroused  with  the  im- 
plement, the  person,  or  the  act  by  which  it  was  first  excited. 
It  may  even  happen,  as  the  animal  is  more  excitable  at  one 
time  than  another,  that  the  mere  sight  of  the  implement,  or 
a  menace  of  the  repetition  of  the  offensive  act,  will  produce  a 
greater  burst  of  fury  than  resulted  from  the  original  infliction 
of  pain.  A  dog  will  bear  patiently  a  good  deal  of  teasing, 
and  a  horse  will  submit  to  frequent  touches  with  the  whip, 
though  by  quickening  their  pace  and  trying  to  get  out  of  the 
way,  they  show  clearly  enough  that  the  act  caused  pain  and 
resentment.  But  then  comes  a  time  when  the  brute  is  unusu- 
ally sensitive,  and  some  trivial  annoyance,  or  a  mere  flourish  of 
the  whip,  will  excite  a  dangerous  burst  of  passion.  An  invari- 
ably attendant  sight  or  sound,  harmless  in  itself,  is  also  asso- 
ciated with  the  offensive  act  as  its  sign  or  symbol ;  and  then 


THE  HUMAN  AND  THE  BRUTE  MIND.          333 

the  familiar  cluck,  chirrup,  or  whistle,  will  produce  the  required 
act  or  emotion  as  surely  as  if  accompanied  with  a  blow.  These 
facts  not  only  explain  the  theory  and  method  of  training  do- 
mestic animals,  but  explain  away  many  supposed  cases  of  sa- 
gacity, of  acting  on  a  premeditated  plan,  and  of  nursing  sup- 
pressed resentment  till  a  fit  opportunity  arrives  for  its  full 
manifestation.  Many  such  stories  are  told  of  the  elephant, 
which  one  who  has  had  large  opportunities  for  observation  has 
recently  declared  to  be  a  remarkably  stupid  animal. 

What  has  thus  far  been  admitted  undoubtedly  tends,  as  far 
as  it  goes,  to  place  the  human  and  the  brute  mind  on  a  par 
with  each  other.  Is  there,  then,  any  strongly  marked  and  un- 
questionable defect  in  the  latter,  which,  when  taken  together 
with  all  its  causes  and  consequences,  places  an  impassable 
gulf  between  the  two  ?  Undoubtedly  there  is.  The  brute 
is  utterly  incapable  of  using  language ;  it  certainly  cannot  talk. 
This  incapacity  does  not  come  from  any  defect  in  its  physical 
organization,  since  parrots  and  several  other  birds  may  be 
taught  to  articulate  words  with  great  distinctness,  and  many  of 
the  mammalia  can  utter  cries  and  make  gestures  which  might 
by  convention  become  as  intelligible  as  the  ringer  alphabet  of 
the  human  deaf  and  dumb.  Then  their  inability  to  talk  must 
arise  from  the  peculiarities  of  their  mental  constitution  ;  and 
an  analysis  of  the  intellectual  processes  which  are  involved  in 
the  intelligent  use  of  language  will  show  clearly  what  are  the 
inherent  defects  in  the  brute  mind.  There  was  as  much  argu- 
ment as  wit  in  the  remark  of  a  German  naturalist,  who  said, 
"I  will  believe  that  animals  have  reason  when  one  of  them 
shall  tell  me  so."  Good  old  John  Locke  has  been  much  ridi- 
culed for  merely  citing  a  story,  which  he  does  not  profess  to 
believe,  about  a  parrot  owned  by  Prince  Maurice,  in  Brazil, 
which  was  able  to  keep  up  an  intelligent  conversation  with  its 
visitors.  Any  attempt  to  teach  animals  to  use  language  mean- 
ingly would  deservedly  excite  equal  ridicule,  since  their  utter 
incapacity  in  this  respect  is  obvious,  even  to  the  vulgar.  Laura 
Bridgeman,  blind,  deaf,  and  dumb  from  infancy,  and  thus  ap- 
parently less  fitted  for  communication  with  the  external  world 
than  any  of  the  vertebrate  brutes,  was  yet  mentally  endowed 
with  an  innate  capacity  for  the  use  of  language,  which  has  been 


334  THE   HUMAN  AND   THE   BRUTE   MIND. 

so  far  developed  by  skilful  instruction,  that  she  now  keeps  a 
diary  and  writes  letters  with  as  large  a  use  of  significant  phra- 
seology as  most  educated  persons  possess.  There  never  was  a 
better  illustration  than  her  case  presents  of  the  etymological 
meaning  of  the  word  "education,"  —  that  it  signifies  bringing 
out  of  the  mind  its  native  capacities,  and  not  merely  putting 
into  it  any  amount  of  useful  information.  But  no  Dr.  Howe 
has  ever  been  foolish  enough  to  attempt  to  teach  a  parrot  or 
a  monkey  to  converse,  to  write  a  significant  sentence,  or  to 
read  what  is  thus  written.  Balaam's  ass  did  not  rebuke  its 
master  except  by  a  miracle. 

What  must  be  the  nature  of  that  inherent  mental  defect 
which  produces  this  absolute  incapacity  for  the  use  of  intelligi- 
ble speech  ?  The  answer  to  this  question  is  not  doubtful  or 
far  to  seek.  Every  significant  word  in  any  language  is  the 
name  or  symbol  of  "  a  concept,"  —  that  is,  of  what  we  English 
formerly  called  "  an  abstract  general  idea."  As  John  Locke 
remarked  long  ago,  brutes  cannot  generalize,  and  therefore 
they  have  no  ideas  to  express,  and  cannot  attach  any  meaning 
to  words  as  uttered  by  others.  As  Bischoff  wittily  puts  it, 
"  the  plain  reason  why  animals  cannot  talk  is  that  they  have 
nothing  to  say."  They  can  be  taught  the  symbolism  of  a  few 
proper  names ;  but  proper  names  are  not  words,  for  they  do 
not  connote  any  meaning,  and  are  therefore  not  susceptible  of 
definition.  Like  a  colored  string  hung  round  the  neck,  or  a 
chalk  mark  on  the  back,  they  denote  the  particular  and  indi- 
vidual act,  man,  or  other  object  that  is  intended,  but  do  not  per 
se  connote  any  idea.  If  I  previously  know  what  message  is  to 
be  imparted,  the  proper  name  or  the  wave  of  a  handkerchief 
may  point  out  to  me  the  person  to  whom  it  is  to  be  given. 
But  such  a  name  has  no  more  significance  in  itself  than  the 
wave  of  the  handkerchief.  Every  word,  properly  so  called,  is 
the  name,  not  of  an  individual,  but  of  a  class,  and  it  is  applica- 
ble indifferently  to  all  the  members  of  the  class,  because  it 
signifies  (connotes)  those  qualities,  and  only  those  qualities, 
which  are  common  to  the  whole  class.  Hence,  comparison  and 
discernment  are  needed  in  order  to  know  what  individuals  be- 
long to  the  class ;  abstraction  is  required  so  as  to  confine  our 
attention  to  their  common  qualities ;  and  generalization  is  the 


THE   HUMAN  AND   THE   BRUTE   MIND.  335 

mental  power  whereby  we  recognize  the  commonness  of  those 
attributes,  and  the  universality  of  the  word  within  the  limits  of 
that  class.  Each  of  the  mental  acts  here  enumerated  is  an  ex- 
ercise of  judgment;  and  the  expression  of  judgments  is  the 
function  of  language.  Hence,  the  proper  unit  or  fundamental 
element  of  significant  speech  is,  not  the  word,  but  the  proposi- 
tion. A  single  word,  "  man,"  does  not  express  any  cognition, 
or  impart  any  fact  or  incident,  except  so  far  as  it  is  explicated 
and  made  clear  to  thought  by  one  or  more  of  the  judgments 
out  of  which  it  was  first  constituted,  such  as  "  man  is  mortal," 
"  man  is  rational,"  etc.  Consequently,  brutes  cannot  grasp  the 
meaning  of  a  word,  because  they  are  mentally  incapable  of 
forming  a  judgment,  i.  e.,  of  thinking  a  sentence  wherein  a 
predicate  is  significantly  affirmed  of  a  subject.  If  one  of  them 
hears  a  word  of  command,  it  is  to  him  only  a  symbol,  like  a 
whistle  or  wave  of  the  hand,  with  which  is  associated  a  cer- 
tain emotion  ;  and  through  the  unconscious  force  of  habit,  the 
emotion  thus  excited  leads  him  to  perform  the  act  which  his 
master  intended.  It  is  of  no  use  to  utter  a  sentence  or  state  a 
proposition  to  him,  for  he  cannot  understand  it,  and  it  will 
have  no  more  effect  npon  him  than  a  single  word,  a  catcall,  or 
a  gesture.  The  phrase,  "  the  human  understanding,"  is  a  ple- 
onasm, since  every  understanding  is  human  or  divine.  The 
brute  has  no  understanding,  because  it  is  incapable  of  thought 
strictly  so  called  ;  that  is,  of  comparison,  discernment,  and 
classification.  Through  the  force  of  habit  and  of  associating 

o  o 

emotions,  as  of  pain  and  pleasure,  with  their  signs,  the  animal 
is  capable  of  being  trained  ;  but  it  is  not  susceptible  of  educa- 
tion. Nothing  can  be  brought  out  of  its  mind,  because  nothing 
preexists  in  it,  which  partakes  of  the  nature  of  thought.  Then 
the  gulf  between  the  brute  and  the  human  mind  can  never  be 
bridged  over;  the  two  things  being  radically  unlike,  one  might 
as  well  attempt  to  develop  a  football  into  a  syllogism. 

Because  they  have  no  thoughts  of  their  own,  and  are  incapa- 
ble of  interpreting  the  thoughts  of  others,  the  lower  animals, 
as  Schopenhauer  remarks,  live  entirely  in  the  present.  They 
have  no  proper  past  or  future.  Their  mental  horizon  is  strictly 
limited  to  the  objects  and  events  which  now  affect  their  senses. 
It  is  true  that  they  may  imagine  sensations  which  do  not  actu- 


336  THE   HUMAN   AND    THE   BRUTE   MIND. 

ally  exist ;  but  they  cannot  distinguish  them,  as  imagined,  from 
those  which  are  real.  The  past  may  be  presented  in  imagina- 
tion, but  it  is  not  recognized  as  past ;  that  is,  it  is  not  con- 
sciously assigned  to  a  definite  previous  experience.  It  is 
merely  a  fictitious  enlargement  of  the  scene  that  is  actually 
before  the  eyes.  Because  incapable  of  comparison  and  discern- 
ment in  thought,  the  animal  cannot  distinguish  the  fictitious 
from  the  real,  or  what  is,  from  what  was,  present  to  sense. 
Hence,  it  probably  does  not  apprehend  either  time  or  number, 
since  these  are  not  direct  presentations  of  sense,  but  can  only 
be  cognized  in  thought.  Indeed,  time  and  number  are  mutu- 
ally dependent ;  neither  can  be  recognized  without  the  other. 
Time  can  be  thought  only  as  a  succession,  a  larger  or  smaller 
number,  of  moments  ;  and  number  can  be  apprehended  only 
by  telling  off  successive  units  through  a  longer  or  shorter  inter- 
val of  time.  Many  familiar  facts  seem  to  indicate  that  the 
brutes  have  no  sense  of  number.  One  puppy  after  another 
may  be  secretly  abstracted  from  a  numerous  litter,  and  the 
mother  shows  no  uneasiness  or  sense  of  loss  ;  but  she  whines 
piteously  after  the  last  one  is  taken.  The  hen  acts  in  a  similar 
manner  with  a  numerous  brood  of  chickens.  Hence,  because 
incapable  of  numeration,  the  brute  cannot  distinguish  between 
a  longer  and  a  shorter  interval  of  time  ;  that  is,  it  has  no  ap- 
prehension of  time  as  such.  More  briefly  still,  to  distinguish 
the  present  from  the  past  would  require  an  act  of  comparison, 
which  the  animal  has  no  power  to  perform.  Being  without  a 
conscious  past,  the  brute  is  also  without  a  future,  since  even  to 
human  foresight  the  future  is  only  the  shadow  which  the  past 
throws  in  advance.  The  present  moment,  with  its  special 
sensations  and  emotions,  its  pleasures  and  its  pains,  either  com- 
ing singly  or  associated  by  habit,  forms  the  whole  conscious 
life  of  the  cat  and  the  dog.  They  have  no  apprehension  of  the 
future,  and  therefore  no  dread  of  death. 

"  The  lamb  thy  riot  dooms  to  bleed  to-day, 
Had  he  thy  reason,  would  he  skip  and  play  ? 
Pleased  to  the  last  he  crops  the  flowery  food, 
And  lieks  the  hand  just  raised  to  shed  his  blood." 

A  very  instructive  analogy  is  pointed  out  by  Leibnitz,  in  ex- 
pounding his  system  of  the  development  of  all  living  things, 


THE   HUMAN   AND    THE   BRUTE   MIND.  337 

when  he  says  that  the  inorganic  world  is  an  aggregate  of  un- 
developed or  sleeping  monads,  an  animal  is  a  dreaming  monad, 
and  man  is  a  monad  that  has  been  waked  up.  The  whole 
mental  life  of  a  brute  bears  a  close  resemblance  to  the  long- 
continued  dream  of  a  human  being.  In  visions  of  the  night, 
the  friend,  whom  we  lost  long  ago  comes  again  before  us,  talks 
and  acts  with  us  in  the  old  familiar  way,  and  we  recognize  him 
as  our  friend  and  are  not  at  all  astonished  at  his  living  pres- 
ence, because  we  have  not  the  slightest  recollection  of  the  fact 
that  he  died  some  ten  years  ago.  At  another  time,  some  scene 
or  incident  of  our  early  youth  is  again  presented  to  us  just  as 
vividly  as  when  we  first  witnessed  it,  and  we  are  a  boy  once 
more,  the  many  intervening  years  of  manhood  being  totally 
forgotten.  Crabbe  has  marked  with  his  usual  force  and  dis- 
tinctness this  loss  of  the  consciousness  of  time  in  our  dreams  : 

"  There  was  I  fixed,  I  know  not  how, 

Condemned  for  untold  years  to  stay  ; 
Yet  years  were  not,  —  one  dreadful  now 

Endured  no  change  of  night  or  day. 
The  same  mild  evening's  sleeping  ray 

Shone  softly  solemn  and  serene, 
And  all  that  time  I  gazed  away, 

The  setting  sun's  sad  rays  were  seen." 

Other  objects  and  events  flit  before  the  mind's  eye  in  a  con- 
fused succession,  incoherent,  having  no  bond  of  union  as  causes 
and  effects,  or  in  any  .way  influencing  each  other,  and  we  do 
not  wonder  in  the  least  at  the  strange  manner  in  which  they 
are  jumbled  together.  The  understanding  is  asleep,  the  senses 
are  closed,  but  the  imagination  or  picture-forming  faculty  is 
more  vivid  and  active  than  ever,  because  the  restraint  in  which 
it  is  usually  held  by  the  faculties  of  perception  and  reflection 
is  now  wholly  taken  away.  We  take  no  note  of  time.  The 
agony  of  some  fancied  event,  such  as  falling  from  a  consider- 
able height,  which  ought  to  occupy  only  a  few  seconds,  is  in- 
definitely protracted,  and  we  are  not  at  all  surprised  that  it 
lasts  so  long.  But  then,  again,  incidents  iu  our  life's  history, 
which  would  fill  out  months  and  years,  such  as  a  voyage  to 
the  antipodes  or  a  period  of  trial  and  imprisonment,  are  com- 
pressed into  a  few  minutes,  and  we  do  not  wonder  at  their 
brevitv.  What  is  very  strange,  the  conscience  or  moral  fac- 


338  THE   HUMAN   AND   THE   BRUTE   MIND. 

ulty  seems  to  be  paralyzed  during  sleep.  Very  good  men 
dream  of  committing  frightful  crimes  without  the  least  com- 
punction, and  iu  fact,  without  consciousness  that  they  are  any- 
thing more  than  innocent  recreations.  Here  too  is  a  remark- 
able analogy  with  the  brute  mind,  which  is  not  immoral  simply 
because  it  is  wmnoral,  —  that  is,  without  any  sense  of  the  dif- 
ference between  right  and  wrong. 

We  can  now  see  how  it  is  that  the  lower  animals  are  unable 
to  profit  by  their  past  experience,  and  therefore,  either  as  in- 
dividuals or  as  a  race,  they  are  incapable  of  any  mental  im- 
provement. Experience  is  simply  a  record,  whether  preserved 
in  memory  or  in  writing,  of  former  observations  and  exper- 
iments. It  is  a  history  of  the  past,  in  which  we  distinguish 
one  class  of  events,  as  followed  by  certain  consequences,  from 
another  class  that  were  not  so  followed.  Evidently  this  is  an 
operation  of  memory,  and  of  comparison  and  discernment, 
and.  therefore  it  is  a  function  of  thought  strictly  so  called. 
We  separate  the  instances  of  success  from  those  of  failure, 
noticing  in  each  case  the  invariable  antecedent  or  concomitant 
circumstances.  Then,  by  the  light  of  an  a  priori  principle 
which  no  experience  can  justify,  we  assume  that  the  future 
will  resemble  the  past ;  or,  in  other  words,  that  the  course  of 
nature  will  be  uniform  in  the  future,  as  it  has  been  in  the 
past.  I  say,  no  experience  can  justify  this  assumption,  for  it 
relates  to  the  future,  while  experience  is  concerned  solely  with 
the  past.  Experience  can  only  say  that  the  course  of  nature 
has  been  uniform  ;  but  it  is  surely  incompetent  to  declare 
what  the  course  of  nature  will  be.  The  future  is  always  a  lot- 
tery. I  may  have  drawn  a  blank  thousands  of  times  ;  but  at 
the  very  next  drawing,  my  number  may  come  up  a  prize.  Till 
within  a  recent  period,  innumerable  observations  went  to  show 
that  the  body  of  a  quadrupedal  mammal  is  never  terminated 
by  a  bill  like  that  of  a  duck  ;  but  about  a  century  ago,  such  an 
animal  was  discovered  in  the  ornithorhynchus  of  New  Hol- 
land. An  exception  to  the  law,  now  deemed  to  be  universal, 
that  every  ruminating  animal  divides  the  hoof,  may  be  found 
to-morrow.  In  truth,  so  far  as  the  organic  world  is  concerned, 
besides  saying  that  the  course  of  nature,  in  many  respects,  is 
tolerably  uniform,  we  ought  to  add  that  nature  never  exactly 


THE   HUMAN  AND   THE   BRUTE   MIND.  339 

repeats  itself ;  for,  as  Leibnitz  long  ago  remarked,  no  two 
whelps  of  the  same  litter,  and  no  two  leaves  on  the  same  bush, 
are  ever  precisely  alike.  A  brute  cannot  be  made  wiser  by  any 
amount  of  experience,  because  it  cannot  compare  and  distin- 
guish, and  is  therefore  incapable  of  apprehending  any  general 
truth,  such  as  that  which  concerns  the  course  of  nature.  It  is 
always  a  slave  of  habit,  whether  the  oft-repeated  act  is  ben- 
eficial or  injurious.  It  may  be  corrected  by  discipline,  it  is 
true ;  but  only  because  a  feeling  of  pain  or  pleasure  is  thereby 
artificially  and  blindly  associated  with  an  action  otherwise 
meaningless. 

Every  one's  observation  of  familiar  facts  will  supply  in- 
stances enough  to  prove  this  stationary  character  of  the  brute 
mind,  which  arises  from  its  inability  to  profit  by  experience. 
The  moth  flies  again  into  the  flame  which  had  repeatedly 
singed  its  wings  within  a  few  minutes.  A  bee  or  wasp,  at- 
tempting to  escape  from  a  room  which  it  had  accidentally  en- 
tered, will  knock  its  head  fruitlessly  for  a  long  time  against 
the  same  pane  of  glass,  though  it  might  find  free  egress  a  few 
inches  lower  down.  The  typical  form  of  nest,  cell,  or  web, 
and  the  same  routine  of  conduct,  are  blindly  and  persistently 
repeated,  though  a  change  of  circumstances  has  made  them  in- 
adequate or  useless  for  the  end  in  view,  and  though  a  slight 
and  easy  modification  of  them  would  render  them  again  useful 
and  agreeable.  The  act  and  the  structure  which  were  needed, 
and  even  indispensable,  while  the  animal  was  in  its  wild  state, 
are  renewed  in  its  domesticated  condition,  though  they  have 
then  become  meaningless  and  even  injurious.  The  tamed 
squirrel,  which  has  received  more  food  than  it  craves  for  the 
moment,  will  scratch  at  the  bottom  of  its  wire  cage,  and  place 
a  nut  there,  though  it  should  have  learned  from  experience 
that  it  is  no  longer  necessary  to  hide  a  store  of  food  for  future 
exigencies.  In  like  manner,  a  half-domesticated  beaver,  which 
had  the  run  of  the  house,  attempted  to  build  a  dam  with  any 
materials  that  came  in  its  way,  though  there  was  no  water 
near,  and  neither  shelter  nor  concealment  were  now  required. 
The  lesson  which  nature  originally  taught  the  animal  was  so 
thoroughly  learned  that  it  is  repeated  by  rote,  come  what 
may,  evidently  without  any  perception  of  its  mil  moaning,  or 


340  THE   HUMAN  AND   THE   BRUTE  MIND. 

any  ability  to  supplement  it  by  the  teachings  of  experience. 
Hence  it  is,  that  the  peculiar  home  which  every  species  of  in- 
sect and  bird  constructs  for  itself  is  built  on  the  same  pattern 
through  an  indefinite  lapse  of  centuries,  no  improvements  be- 
ing copied  from  its  neighbors,  and  none  suggested  by  a  forced 
change  in  its  locality  and  modes  of  life. 

This  essential  defect  of  the  brute  mind  enables  us  to  appre- 
ciate the  breadth  of  the  gulf  which  separates  it  from  the  hu- 
man intellect,  when  we  consider  that  man  depends  entirely 
upon  experience  for  the  preservation  of  his  life,  the  fulfilment 
of  his  purposes,  and  the  daily  and  even  hourly  regulation  of 
his  conduct.  It  is  only  by  actual  trial,  and  through  many 
efforts,  failures,  and  errors,  that  we  learn  the  rules  of  pru- 
dence, and  how  to  find  our  way  through  the  labyrinth  of  this 
world's  affairs.  It  is  only  by  experience  that  we  are  enabled 
to  keep  out  of  fire  and  water,  to  distinguish  our  food  from  our 
poison,  to  separate  our  friends  from  our  enemies,  and  either  to 
help  others  or  to  save  ourselves.  On  this  single  foundation, 
indeed,  is  built  up  the  whole  fabric  of  human  knowledge  ;  for 
although  primitive  convictions  and  truths  spiritually  discerned 
enter  into  the  structure,  and  in  some  measure  regulate  its 
growth  and  determine  its  character,  these  a  priori  elements 
become  pertinent  and  available  for  the  guidance  of  conduct 
only  so  far  as  actual  occurrences  furnish  occasions  on  which  we 
may  reduce  them  to  practice.  They  supply,  to  adopt  Kant's 
phraseology,  only  the  forms  of  cognition  ;  and  these  are  com- 
paratively abstract  and  void,  till  our  life's  history  furnishes  the 
matter  to  which  they  are  applicable.  Conscience,  for  example, 
bids  me  observe  certain  principles  of  action,  but  leaves  me  to 
learn  from  observation  how  best  to  act  upon  them,  and  what 
are  the  tests  of  their  due  observance,  either  by  myself  or 
others. 

But  each  man's  personal  and  individual  experience  is  far  too 
narrow  and  limited,  especially  in  the  earlier  periods  of  life,  to 
furnish  adequate  guidance  for  all  exigencies  that  may  arise,  or 
a  sufficient  foundation  for  all  the  knowledge  that  he  craves. 
It  needs  to  be  largely  supplemented  by  other  men's  experience, 
whether  these  are  our  contemporaries  or  the  members  of  former 
generations.  Hence  the  peculiarly  human  endowment  of  Ian- 


THE   HUMAN   AND   THE   BRUTE   MIND.  341 

guage  as  the  indispensable  means  for  the  advancement  of 
knowledge  and  the  improvement  of  life  through  the  cumula- 
tion of  the  experience  of  the  race.  The  lower  animals  have 
no  need  of  communicating  with  each  other,  because  they  have 
no  useful  lessons  to  teach  ;  as  no  one  of  them  can  put  to  any 
use  the  little  store  of  his  own  experience,  he  would  gain  nothing 
by  increasing  this  store  through  what  might  be  added  to  it  by 
his  fellows.  They  cannot  accumulate  or  transmit  knowledge, 
beecause  they  are  originally  incapable  of  profiting  by  their  own 
experience,  and  therefore  have  nothing  to  impart  to  others. 
As  already  remarked,  they  do  not  talk  because  they  have 
nothing  to  say. 

We  can  now  see  a  reason  for  the  wonderful  fact  to  which  I 
have  already  adverted,  that,  at  least  in  the  organic  living  world, 
nature  takes  good  care  never  to  exactly  repeat  herself.  She 
never,  even  by  accident,  makes  any  one  living  thing  undistin- 
guishably  like  another.  It  is  not  that  she  is  incapable  of  pro- 
ducing perfect  uniformity  in  her  work  ;  for  she  does  produce  it 
in  the  inorganic  world,  where  uniformity  is  the  rule  and  any 
departure  from  it  is  the  exception.  The  specific  gravity  of  any 
elementary  substance,  the  proportions  in  which  such  substances 
are  chemically  united  into  compounds,  the  definite  forms  into 
which  they  crystallize,  the  modes  of  action,  or  affinities,  of  dif- 
ferent re-agents,  and  many  other  instances  of  nature's  work  in 
this  province,  are  precisely  similar  to  each  other;  they  do  not 
vary  even  by  a  hair's  breadth.  Far  otherwise  is  it  in  the  world 
of  living  organisms,  where  variety  is  the  rule,  and  uniformity 
is  the  exception  ;  nay,  it  is  not  even  the  exception,  for  not  one 
such  exception  —  that  is,  no  case  of  two  indiscernables,  can  be 
produced.  So  far  as  I  know,  Leibnitz  is  the  only  philosopher 
of  modern  times  who  has  noticed  and  duly  emphasized  this 
wonderful  fact,  for  the  statement  of  it  is  one  of  the  three  fun- 
damental axioms  on  which  his  whole  system  is  founded.  He 
calls  this  axiom  "  the  sameness  of  indiscernables,"  which  he 
interprets  in  a  somewhat  paradoxical  manner  to  have  just  this 
meaning,  that  no  two  things  can  so  resemble  each  other  as  to 
be  indiscernable,  for  if  they  were,  they  would  no  longer  be  two 
things,  but  one  and  the  same.  The  illustration  that  he  em- 
ployed while  discussing  the  subject  in  the  presence  of  the  Prin- 


342  THE   HUMAN  AND   THE   BRUTE  MIND. 

cess  Caroline,  as  they  were  walking  in  a  garden  together,  was 
that  no  two  leaves  precisely  alike  could  be  found  on  any  bush. 
Another  gentleman  who  was  present  took  up  the  challenge, 
but  after  a  long  search  was  obliged  to  confess  that  the  state- 
ment of  Leibnitz  was  probably  correct.  A  better  illustration, 
as  it  seems  to  me,  might  be  taken  from  the  human  face.  Here, 
all  the  differences  are  crowded  together  within  narrow  com- 
pass, say  within  the  limit  of  six  by  eight  inches,  and  all  the 
main  features  —  brow,  nose,  eyes,  cheeks,  mouth,  and  chin  — 
are  constructed  essentially  on  the  same  general  pattern.  But 
what  a  marvellous  wealth  of  difference  underlies  all  this  uni- 
formity !  Among  the  many  millions  of  human  faces  that  peo- 
ple this  earth  no  two  can  be  found  so  nearly  alike  but  that 
they  are  easily  distinguishable  at  a  glance.  Once  in  a  great 
while,  indeed,  a  case  of  disputed  identity  comes  before  our 
tribunals  of  justice;  but  if  there  is  no  better  ground  of  dis- 
pute than  there  was  concerning  the  Tichborne  claimant,  though 
the  genuine  Sir  Roger  had  not  been  seen  for  over  thirty  years, 
the  jury  would  very  quickly  come  to  a  verdict.  Those  who 
failed  to  see  that  Orton  was  not  Tichborne  had  marvellously 
short  memories. 

How  the  followers  of  Tyndall  and  Huxley  are  able  to  rec- 
oncile this  measureless  variety  in  nature  with  their  theory,  that 
all  living  things  are  turned  out  by  machinery  on  purely  me- 
chanical principles,  is  more  than  one  can  easily  imagine.  They 
hold  even  that  thought,  that  wonderful  psychical  process 
which  generated  the  poetry  of  Milton  and  the  science  of  New- 
ton, is  only  the  necessary  mechanical  result  of  the  molecular 
changes  of  protoplasm.  As  the  stimulus  of  an  electric  spark, 
they  say,  causes  hydrogen  and  oxygen  to  unite  into  an  equiv- 
alent weight  of  water,  so  the  stimulus  of  preexisting  living 
protoplasm  causes  carbon,  hydrogen,  oxygen,  and  nitrogen  to 
generate  an  equivalent  weight  of  other  living  protoplasm. 
There  is  no  other  reason  for  attributing  a  new  entity,  vitality, 
to  the  protoplasm  thus  produced,  than  for  ascribing  as  a  new 
entity,  aquosity,  to  water.  As  it  is  by  its  mere  chemical  and 
physical  structure  that  water  exhibits  its  aqueous  properties, 
it  is  also  by  its  mere  chemical  and  physical  structure  that 
protoplasm  exhibits  what  are  called  its  vital  properties ;  for  in- 


THE   HUMAN   AND   THE   BRUTE   MIND.  343 

stance,  that  it  generates,  inter  alia,  nerve  substance  or  brain, 
and  the  brain  thus  formed  generates  its  infinite  wealth  of 
thought.  In  short,  this  theory  reduces  psychology  to  physi- 
ology, physiology  to  chemistry,  and  chemistry  to  the  mechan- 
ical action  of  molecules  upon  each  other ;  in  other  words,  the 
whole  series  of  intellectual  and  vital  processes  is  accounted 
for  as  the  continuous  and  uniform  action  of  a  self-generating 
machine.  But  if  the  brain  thus  becomes  comparable  to  a 
large  printing-office  that  is  worked  by  machinery  throughout, 
then  I  insist  that  the  types  must  perfectly  resemble  each 
other,  because  struck  from  the  same  matrix,  and  one  printed 
sheet  must  be  indistinguishably  like  every  other  which  has 
been  impressed  on  what  the  printers  call  the  same  "  form." 
But  the  fact  is  far  otherwise.  The  types  set  up  to  furnish 
imprints  of  the  human  face  divine  never,  even  by  accident, 
produce  two  impressions  exactly  alike.  The  thoughts  printed 
on  two  brains  at  the  same  time  and  under  the  same  circum- 
stances, or  on  the  same  brain  at  different  times,  are  diversi- 
fied and  individualized  beyond  all  power  of  computation.  Life 
and  thought,  as  thus  infinitely  varied,  cannot  be  the  results 
of  machinery. 

Now  I  say  that  this  measureless  variety  of  tint  and  out- 
line, with  which  nature  individualizes  all  her  living  products, 
is  the  necessary  means  of  enabling  experience  to  do  its  appro- 
priate work.  Only  because  every  living  man  and  animal  is 
what  the  Scotch  call  fcenspeckle —  •*.  e.,  easily  recognized  —  can 
any  one  of  us  profit  by  the  lessons  of  the  past  as  a  guide  to 
the  future.  Thus  only  are  we  enabled  to  select  appropriate 
means  for  definite  purposes  and  ends.  Thus  only  can  we  dis- 
tinguish our  friends  from  our  enemies,  him  whom  we  may 
safely  trust  from  him  whom  we  must  beware  of,  our  food  from 
our  poison,  my  own  child  from  a  stranger  to  my  blood,  an 
explored  country  from  a  trackless  waste.  The  whole  fabric  of 
civilized  society  may  be  said  to*  depend  upon  the  possibility 
of  giving  testimony  on  oath,  that  this  particular  man  stole 
this  particular  horse.  In  other  words,  discrimination  is  neces- 
sary, and  this,  as  we  have  seen,  is  the  essential  and  distinctive 
element  of  human  thought. 

But  the  question   immediately  arises,  what  substitute  does 


344  THE   HUMAN   AND   THE   BRUTE   MIND. 

the  brute  possess  for  this  peculiar  endowment  whereby  the 
human  mind  is  made  capable  of  doing  its  necessary  work,  and 
thereby  of  providing  for  self-preservation  and  all  the  manifold 
exigencies  of  its  life.  Such  a  substitute  there  must  be.  Man 
is  enabled  to  provide  for  his  wants  only  because  he  can  profit 
by  his  own  experience  and  that  of  his  fellows  ;  while  the  brute, 
as  we  have  seen,  is  not  made  one  whit  the  wiser  by  any 
amount  of  experience,  because  it  cannot  properly  distinguish 
one  case  from  another,  or  discern  the  comparative  faults  and 
excellences  of  two  of  the  same  kind.  How  then  can  it  pre- 
serve its  life  and  perform  its  ordinary  work?  The  answer  to 
this  question  brings  us  at  once  to  the  heart  of  our  subject,  as 
it  shows  that  the  greatest  difference  between  the  human  and 
the  brute  mind  is  not  one  of  defect  on  the  part  of  the  latter, 
but  rather  of  an  excellence,  since  it  is  the  exclusive  posses- 
sion of  a  faculty  which  so  far  transcends  the  power  of  human 
reason,  that  in  its  most  common  manifestations  it  appears  in- 
scrutable, miraculous,  and  even  divine.  So  far  as  the  lower 
animals  are  guided  by  it,  and  they  are  all  more  or  less  under 
its  control  and  dependent  upon  it,  their  actions  appear  to  us 
not  as  subhuman,  but  as  superhuman.  Instinct  is  inspiration  ; 
even  Kant  says  of  it  that  "  it  is  the  voice  of  God."  The  only 
adequate  definition  of  instinct  is,  that  it  does  all  the  work  of 
experience  without  any  aid  from  experience,  so  that  man  can 
only  wonder  at,  but  cannot  understand,  its  operations. 

It  is  a  curious  and  instructive  fact,  that  we  have  no  one 
word  in  the  English  language  to  express  what  the  French  call 
clairvoyance,  and  the  Germans  HeUsehen  ;  that  is,  the  assumed 
power  of  knowing  more  than  experience  ever  taught,  or  is 
even  capable  of  teaching.  I  say,  this  is  an  instructive  fact, 
because  it  indicates  that  practical  and  incredulous  turn  of  the 
English  mind,  that  large  and  roundabout  common  sense,  which 
recoils  with  aversion  from  all  idle  tales  of  seeing  into  the 
future  without  any  aid  from  the  past ;  of  perceiving  by  imme- 
diate intuition  what  is  obviously  beyond  the  range  of  the 
senses ;  and  generally  of  accomplishing  any  feat  which  tran- 
scends our  ordinary  human  faculties.  We  have  not  the  name, 
because  we  do  not  believe  in  the  thing.  The  French,  and 
especially  the  Germans,  are  more  fond  of  the  marvellous,  and 


THE   HUMAN  AND   THE   BRUTE   MIND.  345 

more  prone  to  accept  it  on  insufficient  evidence.  The  Scotch 
give  to  the  power  in  question  the  name  of  "  second-sight." 
The  nearest  approach  that  we  can  make  to  this  meaning  in 
English  is  our  word  "  seer,"  or  prophet,  denoting  one  who 

"can  look  into  the  seeds  of  time, 
And  say  which  grain  will  grow,  and  which  will  not." 

It  is  the  power  attributed  by  the  vulgar  to  witches,  demoniacs, 
somnambulists,  and  magnetized  persons,  but  which  no  edu- 
cated and  well-balanced  mind  is  capable  of  believing  that  they 
actually  possess. 

Now  I  affirm  that  this  very  marvellous  faculty  of  Hell- 
seJien  or  clairvoyance,  which  no  sensible  person  believes  for  a 
moment  that  any  human  mind  has  ever  manifested,  at  least 
for  the  last  eighteen  centuries,  is  unquestionably  possessed  in 
high  perfection  by  many,  if  not  most,  of  the  lower  animals 
under  the  name  of  Instinct,  and  even  by  those  who  are  as 
low  clown  in  the  scale  as  the  fishes  and  the  insects.  I  might 
take,  as  a  familiar  instance,  the  often  cited  case  of  a  kind  of 
wasp,  which  stores  up  food  of  a  kind  which  it  never  uses  for 
itself,  for  the  future  sustenance  of  its  young  whom  it  is  never 
to  see,  because  its  own  life  ends  before  theirs  begins.  This 
case  is  instructive,  because  such  prevision,  confessedly  beyond 
the  range  of  the  animal's  individual  experience,  seems  also  to 
be  inexplicable  even  by  the  aid  of  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer's  in- 
genious supplemental  theory  of  the  accumulated  effects  of 
transmitted  ancestral  experience.  But  as  the  heroic  imagina- 
tions of  the  Evolutionists,  which  are  not  to  be  appalled  by 
many  difficulties  so  long  as  an  opening  can  be  forced  through 
them  by  any  suppositions,  however  violent,  do  attempt  to  ex- 
plain away  such  wonders  by  the  combined  influence  of  hered- 
ity and  natural  selection,  —  as  Mr.  Darwin  does,  for  instance, 
in  respect  to  the  transmitted  instincts  of  the  working,  neuter 
bees, —  I  will  take  another  case  of  Instinct,  which  is  undoubt- 
edly independent  both  of  individual  and  ancestral  experience. 
I  refer  to  the  marvellous  power,  which  many  animals  unques- 
tionably possess,  of  finding  their  way  home,  or  to  their  proper 
point  of  migration,  unaided  by  their  previous  explorations. 
The  stories  seem  to  be  well  authenticated  as  to  the  possession 


346  THE   HUMAN  AND   THE  BRUTE   MIND. 

of  this  remarkable  instinct  even  by  mammals,  such  as  the  dog, 
the  cat,  and  the  donkey,  which  have  been  carried  away  by 
sea  for  a  great  distance,  and  have  then  found  their  way  home 
overland,  unguided,  by  a  route  never  before  traversed  by  them 
or  their  progenitors. 

Migratory  birds,  including  many  who  were  hatched  during 
the  very  season  of  their  departure,  wend  their  way  twice  a 
year  through  the  trackless  fields  of  air  to  far  distant  regions 
with  so  much  precision,  that  one  writer  supposes  them  to  pos- 
sess an  instinctive  knowledge  of  the  cardinal  points  of  the 
compass.  The  carrier  pigeon,  removed  from  London  to  Paris 
in  a  basket,  so  that  it  cannot  observe  the  surroundings,  and 
whose  limited  vision  certainly  cannot  see  the  end  of  its  jour- 
ney from  the  beginning,  even  if  the  curvature  of  the  earth 
were  not  in  the  way,  immediately  on  being  released  flies 
straight  and  swiftly  to  its  former  home.  But  men  living  in 
a  sparsely  settled  country,  or  in  the  neighborhood  of  vast  for- 
ests, have  lost  their  way  and  died  of  exposure  and  privation, 
though  distant  only  a  few  miles  from  their  own  doors.  Bee- 
hunters,  in  our  western  country,  are  able  to  track  the  ordinary 
honey  bee  to  its  distant  hive,  because  its  instinct  teaches  it  to 
fly  home  in  what  is  called  "  a  bee-line,"  that  is,  in  one  math- 
ematically straight.  Two  of  them  are  caught,  and  then  sep- 
arately released  at  points  a  few  rods  distant  from  each  other, 
their  several  lines  of  flight  being  accurately  noted ;  where 
these  two  lines  intersect,  generally  in  a  hollow  tree  at  a  dis- 
tance of  one  or  two  miles,  the  hive  is  found.  This  precision 
of  flight  cannot  be  explained  by  the  insect's  sharpness  of 
vision,  or  by  the  elevation  at  which  it  flies ;  for  the  hive  may 
be  in  a  thick  forest,  so  that  the  intervening  trees  hide  it,  if 
one  is  but  a  rod  or  two  distant  in  any  direction. 

It  must  be  still  easier,  and  more  hopeless,  to  lose  one's  way 
in  the  unexplored  depths  of  ocean  than  even  in  a  vast  forest 
or  a  trackless  desert.  Here  are  no  furrows  or  water-marks, 
and  no  possibility  of  vision  beyond  an  extremely  limited  dis- 
tance ;  all  must  be  a  vast  expanse  of  blinding  uniformity. 
Yet  migratory  fishes,  like  the  salmon  and  the  shad,  after  wan- 
dering through  the  ocean  during  the  whole  winter,  return  with 
unerring  precision,  when  the  breeding  season  approaches,  to 


THE   HUMAN   AND   THE   BRUTE   MIND.  347 

the  very  rivers  which  they  left  months  before.  The  recent 
success  of  pisciculturists  in  stocking  with  the  ova  of  these  fishes 
distant  streams  never  before  frequented  by  them  supplies  more 
proof,  if  more  were  needed,  that  no  store  of  inherited  expe- 
rience can  supply  the  needed  road-marks  and  guidance.  A 
familiar  knowledge  of  the  Tweed  and  the  Shannon  will  not 
help  the  salmon  fry  to  find  its  way  at  the  antipodes  in  the 
rivers  of  Australia.  The  human  navigator,  though  aided  with 
compass,  sextant,  chronometer,  chart,  nautical  almanac,  and 
other  instruments  and  records  of  systematized  experience,  di- 
rects his  voyage  with  difficulty  over  the  ocean  surface,  though 
his  vision  there  extends  for  leagues  in  any  direction.  The 
salmon,  guided  only  by  instinct,  and  with  no  aids  beyond  the 
organs  of  its  own  body,  follows  its  course  far  below,  through 
the  dimly-lighted  depth  of  waters,  with  even  greater  security 
and  precision.  For  it  is  a  characteristic  of  instinct,  that  it 
never  hesitates,  wavers,  or  doubts ;  and  it  makes  no  mistakes. 
Instantly,  without  stopping  to  think,  for  indeed  it  is  incapable 
of  thought,  and  however  protracted  and  complex  its  task  may 
be,  it  does  just  the  right  thing  at  just  the  right  moment. 

In  fact,  every  undoubted  case  of  instinct  involves  the  exer- 
cise of  this  mysterious  power  of  Hellselien  or  "second-sight;" 
for  its  nature  is,  to  make  laborious  provision  for  exigencies 
that  are  still  in  the  comparatively  remote  future,  and  of  which 
the  animal  has  had.  no  experience  whatever.  The  bird  not  yet 
a  year  old,  how  does  it  know  that  the  cares  of  maternity  are 
coming  upon  it,  and  must  be  met  by  the  construction  of  a  nest 
of  which  each  species  has  its  distinctive  pattern?  Properly 
speaking,  of  course,  the  animal  does  not  see  into  the  future, 
its  vision  being  strictly  limited  to  what  is  before  it  at  the 
present  moment.  But  its  actions  and  endeavors  are  as  wisely 
regulated  as  if  it  had  far  more  than  human  foresight.  Instinc- 
tive action  is  working  for  a  purpose,  without  any  consciousness 
of  that  purpose.  That  purpose  is  an  all-important  one,  either 
for  the  continuance  of  the  animal's  own  life,  or  the  propaga- 
tion of  its  species.  The  long-continued  and  laborious  work 
that  is  done  for  this  purpose  is  usually  distasteful  for  the  mo- 
ment, involving  a  considerable  sacrifice  of  the  creature's  pres- 
ent ease  and  enjoyment.  But  urged  by  an  impulse  stronger 


348  THE   HUMAN   AND   THE   BRUTE   MIND. 

than  death,  it  lifts  the  self-imposed  burden  and  bears  it  stoutly 
to  the  end,  uncheered  even  by  that  which  is  the  great  solace 
of  all  human  labor,  the  hope  of  future  happiness  which  is  to 
reward  the  performance  of  duty.  The  action  of  instinct  bears 
some  resemblance  to  what  man  does  under  the  influence  of 
habit,  his  work  having  become  a  mere  routine  which  he  per- 
forms without  reflection,  and  almost  without  consciousness. 
But  habit  is  not  instinct,  for  it  is  slowly  generated  and  per- 
fected by  experience  ;  while  instinct,  perfect  from  the  mo- 
ment of  the  animal's  birth,  is  altogether  independent  of  expe- 
rience. 

Instinct  is  certainly  given  to  the  brutes  as  a  substitute  both 
for  reason,  and  for  experience  which  supplies  the  materials  on 
which  human  reason  operates  ;  and  in  truth,  we  know  that  the 
two  faculties  exist  in  inverse  ratio  to  each  other.  As  at  the 
bottom  of  the  scale,  in  the  lowest  animal,  there  is  certainly  no 
trace  of  reason,  so  at  the  top,  in  man,  there  is  no  vestige  of 
instinct.  In  the  human  being,  it  is  true,  we  find  natural  and 
primitive  emotions  and  appetites,  which  are  often  loosely  called 
"  instinctive."  But  they  do  not  deserve  the  name,  for  they 
dictate  only  the  end  to  be  pursued,  but  do  not  guide  us,  as 
instinct  would,  in  selecting  the  right  means  for  its  attainment. 
On  the  contrary,  the  stronger  the  feeling  or  desire,  too  fre- 
quently are  we  the  more  mistaken  in  our  eager  attempts  to 
gratify  it,  which  often  defeat  the  very  purpose  we  have  in  view. 
Instinct  does  not  commit  such  blunders.  I  have  already  al- 
luded to  the  fact  that  the  highest  and  most  marvellous  instincts 
are  manifested  far  down  in  the  scale,  among  ants,  spiders,  and 
bees,  and  are  comparatively  infrequent  among  the  vertebrates. 
But  even  here,  birds  show  more  numerous  and  more  complex 
instincts  than  mammals,  and  fishes  are  guided  more  by  what 
answers  to  inspiration  than  by  habit.  Hence,  as  Professor 
Mivart  remarks,  "  the  more  instinctive  a  man's  actions  are, 
the  less  are  they  rational,  and  vice  versa;  and  this  amounts  to 
a  demonstration  that  reason  has  not,  and  by  no  possibility 
could  have  been,  developed  from  instinct.  "  When  two  facul- 
ties tend  to  increase  in  inverse  ratio,  it  becomes  unquestion- 
able that  the  dift'erence  between  them  is  one  of  kind."  This 
is  the  case  with  respect  to  sensation  and  perception.  Both  Dr. 


THE   HUMAN   AND   THE   BRUTE   MIND.  349 

Reid  and  Sir  William  Hamilton  have  noticed  the  fact,  that 
as  the  sensation  becomes  intense  —  looking  at  the  full  blaze  of 
the  sun,  for  instance,  —  the  cognitive  perception  of  shape, 
color,  and  other  attributes  diminishes ;  and  conversely,  as  the 
perception  becomes  more  distinct,  the  mere  sensation  fades 
out  into  indifference,  and  no  longer  gives  either  pain  or  pleas- 
ure. This  is  the  case  in  reading  a  printed  page,  where  the 
cognitive  facultv  comes  into  play  almost  exclusively,  and  the 
mere  visual  sensations  of  black  figures  on  a  white  ground  are 
hardly  noticed  ;  we  are  absorbed  by  the  thought  and  disre- 
gard the  symbols.  We  have  here  one  instance  of  the  oppo- 
sition between  mere  feeling,  which  is  a  purely  subjective  state 
of  mind,  and  the  objective  cognition  of  rock,  tree,  or  water. 
In  fact,  perception  proper  is  a  rational  process,  which  needs 
the  aid  of  the  understanding  or  thinking  faculty,  in  order  to 
compare,  discern,  and  judge,  and  cannot  be  completed  without 
it.  The  brute  merely  stares  at  a  novel  object,  and  does  not 
properly  take  it  in,  or  understand  it.  Pie  has  sensation  from 
it,  but  no  proper  perception  of  it.  But  man,  though  perhaps 
seeing  the  object  for  the  first  time,  still  in  a  certain  degree 
recognizes  it,  or  knows  it  over  again,  saying,  "  this  is  a  tree, 
or  a  house."  Judgment,  a  purely  intellectual  act  of  which 
the  brute  is  incapable,  is  involved  in  every  act  of  perception 
strictly  so-called. 

The  instinct  which  guides  the  ant  and  the  bee  is  really  the 
same  with  the  power,  or  agency,  call  it  what  you  may,  which 
directs  the  physiological  processes  that  paint  the  peacock's  tail 
with  so  complex  and  gorgeous  a  pattern,  and  arrays  shells  and 
flowers  in  their  decorated  holiday  garb.  Indeed,  the  process  of 
development,  through  which  the  whole  organism  is  built  up  on 
a  complex  but  definite  plan,  with  its  machinery  of  limbs,  mus- 
cles, joints,  and  nerves,  and  its  adornment  of  plumage,  shell, 
and  scales,  is  but  half  of  the  work  necessary  to  be  accomplished 
before  the  animal  is  fitted  to  play  the  part  assigned  to  it  in 
nature's  scheme,  and  thus  to  preserve  its  own  life  and  continue 
its  species.  Together  with  the  organs  and  other  physical 
means  of  doing  its  work,  it  must  have  the  knowledge  and  skill 
requisite  for  making  the  proper  use  of  those  means,  and  direct- 
ing them  towards  the  appropriate  ends  to  be  accomplished. 


350  THE   HUMAN   AND    THE   BRUTE   MIND. 

The  instinct  and  the  organism  in  which  it  is  lodged  are  neces- 
sarily related  to  each  other,  as  parts  of  one  whole  ;  any  change 
in  either  of  the  two  factors  would  incapacitate  the  animal  for 
its  task,  if  it  were  not  accompanied  by  a  corresponding  change, 
nicely  adapted  to  it,  in  the  other.  Thus,  in  the  spider,  the 
gland  which  secretes  the  viscid  fluid,  which  is  the  raw  material 
for  constructing  the  web,  must  be  correlated  with  the  instinct 
for  drawing  out  the  threads  and  weaving  them  into  the  peculiar 
pattern  of  that  web ;  and  both  these  processes  again  must  be 
nicely  correlated  to  the  general  purpose  in  view,  that  of  en- 
trapping its  prey.  Webbed  feet  and  plumage  impervious  to 
wet  must  be  correlated  with  the  instinct  to  take  the  water  and 
swim  ;  as  is  clearly  seen  in  the  case  of  ducklings  that  have 
been  hatched  out  by  a  hen,  as  in  this  case  the  instinct  cannot 
have  been  acquired  by  instruction,  experience,  or  imitation. 
Many  birds  instinctively  hide  their  nests,  both  by  building 
them  in  crevices  and  corners  not  exposed  to  open  view,  and  by 
assimilating  them  to  the  color  of  the  surrounding  rock  or  foli- 
age. In  like  manner,  the  agency,  whatever  it  may  be,  which 
constructs  the  animal's  organism,  often  provides  for  its  protec- 
tion through  concealment  by  similar  means,  as  by  assimilating 
the  color  of  its  skin  or  plumage  to  that  of  its  surroundings,  or 
by  mimicry  of  forms  of  a  different  nature, — for  instance,  by 
imitating  the  color  and  external  structure  of  a  dead  leaf.  Even 
man  has  an  involuntary  and  almost  unconscious  impulse  to 
imitate  actions  in  which  he  is  much  interested,  as  when  we 
cough  or  yawn  by  contagion,  or  writhe  and  twist  our  bodies  in 
sympathy  with  the  rope-dancer  whom  we  are  gazing  at.  Rea- 
soning from  analogy,  then,  we  may  well  conclude,  that  it  is  an 
imitative  impulse,  though  a  wholly  unconscious  one,  which 
gradually  assimilates  the  insect's  color  and  external  form  to  a 
dead  leaf,  or  some  other  shape  seemingly  so  fantastic  that  it 
appears  like  a  purposeless  freak  of  nature.  But  then  we  must 
also  admit,  that  the  ordinary  process  of  building  up  the  ani- 
mal's whole  body  in  the  normal  way,  after  the  common  type  of 
its  species,  is  throughout  the  animal's  own  act,  though  a  blind 
and  unconscious  one,  performed  under  the  guidance  of  a 
higher  power.  It  is  not  the  brain  which  generates  the  instinct, 
but  it  is  the  instinct  which  constructs  the  brain,  as  well  as 
every  other  portion  of  the  organism. 


MALTHUSIANISM,    DARWINISM,  AND    PESSIMISM. 

FROM     THE    NORTH    AMERICAN    REVIEW    FOR    NOVEMBER,     1879. 

THE  doctrine  of  the  perfectibility  of  the  human  race  was  first 
systematically  taught  by  a  school  of  philosophical  radicals  to- 
ward the  close  of  the  last  century.  It  was  a  natural  outgrowth 
of  the  extravagant  hopes  that  were  created  by  the  earlier  stages 
of  the  French  Revolution.  Condorcet,  while  he  was  in  hiding 
in  order  to  escape  the  fate  of  the  Girondists,  showed  the  firm- 
ness of  a  philosopher  by  writing  his  "  Sketch  of  the  Progress 
of  the  Human  Mind,"  in  which  he  predicted  the  removal  of  all 
social  and  political  evils,  and  the  establishment  of  peace,  vir- 
tue, and  happiness  over  the  whole  earth.  He  was  arrested  be- 
fore the  work  was  completed,  and  escaped  the  guillotine  only 
by  a  self-inflicted  death.  In  England,  William  Godwin  pub- 
lished, in  1793,  his  "  Political  Justice,"  in  which  he  advocated 
the  same  doctrines  that  Condorcet  had  taught,  and  almost  with 
equal  peril  to  himself  ;  since  the  Government  and  the  populace 
at  that  period,  as  Dr.  Priestley  found  to  his  cost,  showed  little 
mercy  to  those  who  were  accused  of  holding  i%evolutionary  opin- 
ions. Godwin  attributed  nearly  all  the  vices  and  misery  with 
which  society  is  afflicted  to  bad  government  and  bad  laws.  Re- 
form these,  he  said  ;  do  away  with  the  institutions  of  property 
and  marriage,  which  are  based  on  monopoly  and  fraud,  es- 
tablish the  equality  of  all  men,  and  all  wars  and  contentions 
will  cease,  and  the  spirit  of  benevolence,  guided  by  justice,  will 
distribute  equitably  the  bounteous  fruits  of  the  earth  among 
all  persons  according  to  their  several  needs. 

In  1708,  as  an  answer  to  Godwin's  "  Political  Justice/'  the 
Rev.  T.  II.  Malthus  published  his  '•  Essay  on  the  Principle  of 
Population,  or  a  View  of  its  Past  and  Present  Effects  on  Hu- 
man Happiness."  This  work  had  early  and  great  success;  it 


352  MALTHUSIAXISM,    DARWINISM,    AND   PESSIMISM. 

formed  the  basis  on  which,  in  great  part,  during  the  first  half  of 
the  present  century,  the  English  science  of  Political  Economy 
was  constructed.  Of  course,  it  was  deeply  imbued  with  pessi- 
mist opinions.  The  author's  purpose  was  to  show  that  the  prin- 
cipal evils  with  which  human  society  is  afflicted  are  ineradica- 
ble, having  their  root  in  human  nature  itself,  so  that  they  are 
sure  to  break  out  anew,  and  with  increased  virulence,  after  any 
temporary  alleviation.  Misery  and  crime,  he  argued,  are  not 
produced  to  any  considerable  extent  by  laws  and  institutions 
of  man's  device,  and  certainly  are  not  cm-able  by  them.  Pov- 
erty and  want  are  their  chief  sovu-ce,  and  these  are  the  inevita- 
ble results  of  Over-Population  and  the  consequent  Struggle  for 
Existence.  A  blind  and  insatiable  craving  uro-es  man  to  mul- 

o  o 

tiply  his  kind,  and  the  necessary  consequence  of  gratifying  this 
impulse  is,  that  the  increase  of  the  population  has  a  constant 
tendency  to  outrun  the  means  of  subsistence.  At  present, 
some  restraint  is  put  upon  this  increase  by  prudential  consid- 
erations ;  since  most  persons  consider  the  irremediableness  of 
marriage,  and  fear  to  create  an  obstacle  to  their  success  in  life 
by  burdening  themselves  with  the  support  of  a  family.  Let  us 
suppose,  then,  that  this  restraint  is  taken  away,  by  a  removal 
of  all  the  causes  which  now  render  it  an  act  of  imprudence  for 
either  sex  to  gratify  their  natural  inclinations.  Let  us  suppose 
that  property  is  equally  distributed  ;  that  marriage  is  no  longer 
an  indissoluble  tie  ;  that  wars  and  contentions  have  ceased  ; 
that  unwholesome  occupations  and  habits  of  life  no  longer  pre- 
vail ;  that  medical  skill  and  foresight  have  stamped  out  all  pre- 
ventable diseases  ;  that  the  people  no  longer  congregate  in 
great  cities,  those  nurseries  of  vice  and  disease,  but  ai'e  dis- 
tributed over  the  face  of  the  country,  and  are  engaged  chiefly 

t,    7  J 

in  healthful  agricultural  operations  ;  and  that  the  community, 
as  Plato  recommended,  undertake  the  whole  care  and  support 
of  all  the  children  that  are  born,  instead  of  allowing  them  to 
become  a  particular  burden  to  their  parents.  Is  it  not  evident 
that,  under  such  circumstances,  population  would  multiply  more 
rapidly  than  ever,  and  that  there  would  soon  be.  not  only  a 
lack  of  food,  with  a  swift  return  of  all  the  evils  consequent  upon 
poverty  and  famine,  but  even  a  want  of  standing-room  for  the 
multitudes  claiming  place  upon  the  surface  of  the  earth? 


MALTHUSIANISM,   DARWINISM,   AND   PESSIMISM.  353 

"  How  small,  of  all  thnt  human  hearts  endure, 
That  part  which  kinys  and  laws  can  cause  or  cure  !  " 

For  the  law  is  common  to  the  vegetable  and  animal  king- 
doms, the  human  race  included,  that  the  rate  of  increase,  how- 
ever slow  or  rapid  it  may  be,  must  operate  in  the  way  of  a 
geometrical  ratio.  The  same  causes  which  double  a  population 
of  one  thousand  will  double  a  population  of  one  thousand  mil- 
lions. For  example :  a  given  rate  of  increase,  between  1790 
and  1800,  added  only  1,200,000  to  the  white  population  of 
this  country  ;  between  1830  and  1840,  the  same  rate  of  increase 
added  3,000,000.  Our  population  was  more  than  doubled  be- 
tween 1790  and  1820  ;  it  was  again  more  than  doubled  between 
1820  and  1850.  But  the  former  doubling  added  less  than  five 
millions  to  our  numbers,  while  the  latter  one  added  over  ten 
millions ;  and  the  next  doubling,  in  1880,  will  have  added  con- 
siderably more  than  twenty  millions.  Inevitably  then,  if  the 
population  increase  at  all,  it  must  increase  in  the  way  of  a  geo- 
metrical progression  — that  is,  as  the  numbers  1,  2,  4,  8, 16,  etc. 

But  the  means  of  subsistence,  at  best,  cannot  possibly  be 
made  to  increase  faster  than  in  an  arithmetical  ratio  —  that  is, 
as  the  numbers  1,  2,  3,  4,  5,  etc.  The  surface  of  the  earth 
affords  only  a  limited  extent  of  ground,  and  this  is  of  various 
degrees  of  fertility,  large  portions  of  it  being  hardly  cultivable 
at  all.  By  putting  more  ground  in  cultivation  and  improving 
the  modes  of  agriculture,  it  is  conceivable  that,  within  twenty- 
five  years,  the  quantity  of  food  should  be  doubled.  But  it  is 
not  conceivable  that  more  than  this  should  be  accomplished ; 
that  is,  that  the  second  twenty-five  years  should  make  a  larger 
addition  to  the  existing  stock  than  was  obtained  during  the 
former  period.  Hence,  under  the  most  favorable  supposition 
that  can  be  made,  beginning  with  an  annual  product  equal  to 
one  million  bushels  of  wheat,  at  the  end  of  the  first  quarter  of 
a  century  this  might  be  raised  to  two  millions,  at  the  end  of 
the  second  quarter  to  three  millions,  and  at  the  close  of  the 
third  period  to  four  millions. 

Of  course,  the  population  cannot  actually  outrun  the  supply 
of  food,  though  it  is  constantly,  as  it  were,  striving  to  do  so 
and  battling  for  the  ground.  It  is  restrained,  first,  by  what 
Malthus  calls  the  preventive  check,  which  consists  in  the  exer- 


354  MALTHUSIAXISM,    DARWINISM,    AND   PESSIMISM. 

cise  of  moral  restraint,  whereby  some  persons  repress  their 
natural  inclinations,  and  either  do  not  marry  at  all,  or  post- 
pone the  time  of  marriage  till  comparatively  late  in  life.  This 
check  keeps  down  the  increase  of  numbers  through  diminish- 
ing the  proportion  of  births.  Where  this  fails  to  operate  to  a 
sufficient  extent,  the  second,  or  positive,  check  must  come  into 
play,  ly  increasing  the  number  of  deaths,  through  insufficient 
nourishment,  overcrowding,  disease,  and  crime.  Vainly  does 
private  munificence  or  public  liberality  seek  to  remove  the 
proximate  causes  of  these  evils.  Interference  only  does  harm. 
Leave  the  poor  alone,  then,  say  the  Malthusians,  to  be  chas- 
tised by  fever,  hunger,  and  misery  into  a  sense  of  their  obliga- 
tion to  society  to  refrain  from  increasing  their  own  numbers. 
The  more  numerous  the  family  of  the  pauper,  the  less  claim 
he  has  to  relief ;  his  own  suffering  and  that  of  his  family  must 
be  his  punishment,  for  thus  only  can  his  neighbors  be  taught 
prudence.  Sanitary  measures  are  equally  inefficient.  Check 
the  ravages  of  the  small-pox  by  vaccination  ;  then  typhus  fever, 
the  Asiatic  cholera,  or  a  famine  must  supervene  in  order  to 
keep  down  the  superfluity  of  life.  Hence  McCulloch,  a  lead- 
ing economist  of  this  school,  talked  of  "  the  irretrievable  helot- 
ism  "  of  the  English  working  classes,  and  advised  Ins  country- 
men, in  view  of  it,  "  to  fold  their  arms  and  leave  the  denou- 
ment  to  time  and  Providence." 

The  theory  of  Malthus  at  once  became  popular  in  England, 
not  only  because  it  refuted  the  revolutionary  doctrines  of  men 
like  Godwin  and  the  French  Jacobins,  but  because  it  seemed 
to  relieve  the  rich  from  any  responsibility  for  the  sufferings  of 
the  poor,  and  from  any  obligation  to  contribute  to  their  sup- 
port. "  If  my  conclusions  are  adopted."  said  Maltlms  in  his 
preface,  "  we  shall  be  compelled  to  acknowledge,  that  the  pov- 
erty and  misery  which  prevail  among  the  lower  classes  of  so- 
ciety are  absolutely  irremediable."  And  these  conclusions 
seemed  incontrovertible,  for  they  rested  upon  a  basis  of  mathe- 
matical calculation,  and  were  supported  by  an  appeal  to  the 
obvious  facts,  that  the  poor  man  is  made  still  poorer  by  the 
possession  of  a  largo  family,  and  that  destitution  and  suffering 
are  most  prevalent  in  localities  where  the  population  is  most 
dense.  Consequently,  pauperism  should  be  regarded  as  a  crime, 


MALTHUSIANISM,    DARWINISM,    AND   PESSIMISM.  355 

and  should  be  stamped  out,  like  the  cattle-disease,  by  harsh 
legislative  measures.  These  opinions  led  to  the  enactment,  in 
18-34,  of  the  New  Poor  Law,  the  avowed  purpose  of  which  was 
to  prevent  what  is  called  "  outdoor  relief,"  and  to  collect  the 
destitute  and  starving  in  Union  workhouses,  where,  as  in  jails, 
the  separation  of  the  sexes,  the  lowness  of  the  diet,  and  the 
general  severity  of  the  regimen  should  be  a  terror  to  the  evil- 
doers who  had  presumed  to  burden  society  with  their  super- 
fluous progeny.  If  the  crime  was  not  literally  theirs,  it  was 
at  any  rate  their  parents'  fault,  and  the  sins  of  the  fathers 
must  be  visited  upon  the  children  in  order  to  deter  others  from 
like  offences.  "  Go  to  the  workhouse,  or  starve,"  was  hence- 
forth to  be  the  answer  to  all  applicants  for  parochial  relief ; 
and  the  reader  of  Dickens  need  not  be  reminded  that  many  of 
them  preferred  the  latter  alternative. 

It  seems  strange  that  Malthusianism  should  become  an  ac- 
cepted doctrine  not  only  with  the  Tories  and  the  landed  gen- 
try, but  with  the  Whig  doctrinaires  generally,  the  wealthy 
manufacturers,  and  especially  the  Philosophical  Radicals  of  the 
Benthamite  school,  whose  leaders  were  the  elder  and  the  younger 
Mill.  The  "Edinburgh  Review"  advocated  it  strenuously. 
Miss  Martineau,  of  whom,  as  well  as  of  Jeremy  Bentham,  it 
must  be  confessed  that  the  practice  was  in  strict  conformity 
with  the  principles,  inculcated  it  in  a  pathetic  love-story,  which 
formed  one  of  her  "  Illustrations  of  Political  Economy."  The 
Benthamites  did  not  allow  any  morality  of  sentiment  or  deli- 
cacy upon  this  subject  to  conflict  with  their  principles  of  thor- 
oughgoing utilitarianism  ;  for  it  was  openly  charged  against 
some  of  their  leaders,  about  1830,  that  they  caused  placards  to 
be  posted  in  the  most  crowded  districts  of  the  great  manufact- 
uring towns,  in  order  to  teach  the  laboring  poor  the  same  de- 
testable opinions  and  practices  for  disseminating  which  Besant 
and  Bradlaugh  have  recently  been  convicted  and  punished. 
John  S.  Mill  was  so  provoked  with  the  people  of  the  United 
States  for  multiplying  rapidly,  that  he  pointed  his  censure  of 
our  folly  with  this  coarse  sneer,  directed  against  the  Northern 
and  Middle  States  :  "  They  have  the  six  points  of  Chartism, 
and  they  have  no  poverty  ;  and  all  that  these  advantages 
do  for  them  is,  that  the  life  of  the  whole  of  one  sex  is  de- 


356  MALTHUSIAXISM,    DARWINISM,    AND   PESSIMISM. 

voted  to  dollar-bunting,  and  of  the  other  to  breeding  dollar- 
hunters." 

But  the  triumph  of  Malthusianism  lasted  only  for  about 
half  a  century,  and  its  decline  and  fall  have  been  even  more 
rapid  than  its  rise.  The  tide  turned  about  the  time  of  the 
famine  in  Ireland  in  1846-1847,  and  the  consequent  fearful 
exodus  from  that  unhappy  island,  which,  in  less  than  ten 
years,  deprived  it  of  full  one  fourth  of  its  population.  In  1845, 
the  number  of  persons  in  that  country  was  estimated  at  8,295,- 
000  ;  and  they  were  increasing  with  considerable  rapidity.  In 
1851,  the  population  was  only  6,574,278  ;  and  in  1871,  it  was 
less  than  five  and  one  half  millions,  being  a  diminution  of 
nearly  thirty-five  per  cent.  The  Malthusians  themselves  were 
appalled  at  such  a  result.  For  the  evil  did  not  stop  with  the 
immediate  diminution  of  numbers  ;  as  usual  in  such  cases,  it 
was  chiefly  those  who  were  in  the  flower  of  life,  the  healthy 
and  the  strong,  who  emigrated,  leaving  behind  them  the  aged, 
the  feeble,  and  the  diseased.  Hence,  the  people  at  home  de- 
teriorated in  vitality  and  working  power  even  in  a  higher  ratio 
than  their  decrease  in  numbers.  At  the  same  period,  there 
was  also  a  great  emigration,  though  by  no  means  to  an  equiv- 
alent extent,  from  England,  and  especially  from  Scotland,  where 
the  great  land-owners  had  acted  on  Malthusian  principles  by 
depopulating  their  vast  estates,  unroofing  the  cottages  over 
their  tenants'  heads,  and  thus  compelling  them  to  ship  them- 
selves beyond  sea.  Then  came  the  great  trials  of  the  Crimean 
war  and  the  Indian  mutiny,  with  the  attendant  difficulty  of 
recruiting  the  army,  so  that  the  country  awoke  to  a  knowl- 
edge of  the  sad  truth  that,  in  banishing  their  people  or  pre- 
venting their  increase,  they  were  drying  up  the  sources  of  their 
productive  power  and  their  military  strength. 

These  events  procured  a  hearing  for  the  arguments  with 
which  Mr.  Samuel  Lahi£,  the  noted  traveller  and  social  econo- 

O  • 

mist,  Mr.  W.  T.  Thornton,  the  author  of  "  Over-Population 
and  its  Remedy,"  Colonel  P.  Thompson,  and  others,  had  al- 
ready vigorously  assailed  the  doctrine  of  Malthus.  In  the 
"North  American  Review"  also,  (October,  1847,  July  and 
October,  1*4S,)  this  pessimistic  theory  of  population  was  im- 
pugned on  general  grounds,  and  with  facts  drawn  from  Ameri- 


MALTHUSIAXISM,    DARWINISM,   AND   PESSIMISM.  357 

can  experience.  At  present,  a  mere  glance  at  the  considera- 
tions drawn  from  these  various  sources,  which  afford  a  decisive 
refutation  of  Maltlmsianism,  must  suffice. 

The  actual  limit  to  the  growth  of  the  population  in  any 
country  is,  not  the  quantity  of  food  which  it  alone  is  capable 
of  producing  from  its  own  soil,  but  the  quantity  which  it  is 
able  and  willing  to  purchase  from  other  lands.  Practically, 
then,  the  only  limit  for  it  is  the  number  which  the  surface  of 
tlie  u'ltnle  earth  is  capable  of  feeding.  The  world  is  fur  from 
being  over-peopled  yet,  and  the  amount  of  food  which  it  can 
produce  is  so  immensely  in  excess  of  the  present  demand,  that 
any  deficit  in  the  supply  cannot  reasonably  be  anticipated  for 
thousands  of  years  to  come.  Europe  alone  is  able  to  feed, 
from  its  own  resources,  a  population  five  times  as  great  as  its 
present  number,  before  it  will  be  as  thickly  peopled  and  as 
fully  cultivated  as  Belgium  is  now  ;  and  the  additional  supplies 
which  it  might  obtain,  if  needed,  from  our  own  Mississippi 
Valley,  from  South  America,  South  Africa,  Australia,  Cali- 
fornia, and  Mexico,  are  so  vast  that  they  cannot  be  computed. 
Savage  tribes  do  not  multiply  at  all,  but  rapidly  become  ex- 
tinct as  soon  as  they  are  brought  in  contact  with  civilization  ; 
and  even  half-civilized  races,  like  the  Turks,  Arabs,  Tartars, 
Hindoos,  and  Chinese,  are  either  stationary  or  diminishing  in 
number.  Turkey  in  Europe,  Asia  Minor,  Mesopotamia,  and 
Turkistan  were  probably  more  populous  two  thousand  years 
ago  than  they  are  now.  In  every  way,  therefore,  man,  not 
Providence,  is  in  fault.  The  bounties  of  nature  are  practically 
inexhaustible;  but  men  are  too  ignorant,  indolent,  and  self-in- 
dulgent, too  much  the  slaves  of  their  lower  appetites  and  pas- 
sions, to  profit  by  them. 

At  present,  therefore,  and  for  an  indefinite  period  still  to 
come,  tin1  only  limit  to  the  quantity  of  sustenance  which  any 
nation  is  able  to  procure,  either  by  cultivating  its  own  soil  or 
by  importation  from  other  countries,  is  the  amount  of  icealth 
which  it  is  capable  of  producing  Hence,  civilized  nations,  let 
them  multiply  as  fast  as  they  may,  do  not  direct  their  ener- 
gies chiefly  to  the  raising  of  food,  but  to  the  acquisition  of 
wealth.  And,  for  the  attainment  of  this  end,  anv  increase  of 
their  numbers,  far  from  being  an  obstacle,  is  a  help  ;  for,  if 


358  MALTHUSIANISM,   DARWINISM,   AND   PESSIMISM. 

there  are  more  mouths  to  be  fed,  there  are  more  hands  to  feed 
them  with.  An  increase  of  the  population  is,  pro  tanto,  an  in- 
crease of  productive  power,  and  it  makes  no  difference  whether 
the  article  produced  is  food,  or  a  commodity  immediately  ex- 
changeable for  food.  One  pair  of  hands,  if  allowed  fair  play, 
can  more  than  satisfy  the  demands  of  one  stomach,  so  that 
there  will  always  remain  a  surplus  for  the  gradual  accumula- 
tion of  wealth.  Less  than  one  fifth  of  the  people  of  England 
now  devote  themselves  directly  to  agriculture,  because  the 
other  four  fifths  find  that,  in  the  various  pursuits  of  manufact- 
ures and  commerce,  they  can  equally  well  obtain  the  means 
of  satisfying  their  hunger,  and  gradually  become  rich  bv  hav- 
ing a  larger  surplus.  The  increase  of  their  numbers  does  not 
compel  them  to  cultivate  inferior  soils  near  home,  but  enables 
them  to  purchase  grain  and  beef  raised  on  the  fat  prairies  of 
Illinois  or  the  fertile  plains  of  southeastern  Europe.  London 
taxes  all  the  counties  of  England  for  sustenance ;  England 
taxes  all  the  countries  of  the  earth  for  sustenance.  Is  there 
any  greater  hardship  or  difficulty  in  the  latter  case,  than  in  the 
former  one  ? 

In  these  modern  days,  with  our  improved  means  of  com- 
munication by  steam  and  telegraph,  extreme  poverty  is  the 
only  possible  cause  of  a  famine ;  and  even  this  poverty  is  at- 
tributable, not  to  the  absolute  lack  of  wealth,  but  solely  to  its 
unequal  distribution.  It  was  so  in  the  Irish  famine  of  1846, 
1847,  and  in  the  Indian  famine  two  years  ago.  When  the 
suffering  was  at  its  height,  ship-loads  of  corn  and  meal  were 
turned  away  from  the  Irish  ports,  and  of  rice  from  Madras  and 
Calcutta,  solely  from  the  want  of  a  market.  In  either  case, 
also,  great  wealth  was  near  at  hand ;  but  it  belonged  ex- 
clusively to  the  few,  and  was  accessible  by  the  many  only  in 
the  hard  form  of  charity.  The  fate  both  of  the  Irish  and  the 
Hindoos  was  the  more  terrible  because  they  starved  in  the 
midst  of  plenty. 

On  examining  the  facts  in  the  case  more  closely,  it  will  al- 
ways be  found,  that  it  is  not  the  excess  of  population  which 
causes  the  misery,  but  the  misery  which  causes  the  excess  of 
population.  Hopeless  poverty  makes  men  imprudent  and 
reckless,  and  leads  them  to  burden  themselves  Avith  a  family, 


MALTHUSIANISM,   DARWINISM,   AND   PESSIMISM.  359 

because  they  cannot  be  worse  off,  and  there  is  no  possibility 
of  improving  their  condition.  In  Switzerland,  where  the  land 
is  parcelled  out  among  small  proprietors,  the  peasantry  obtain 
a  comfortable  livelihood,  and  therefore  increase  so  slowly 
that  the  population  will  not  double  itself  in  less  than  two 
hundred  and  twenty-seven  years.  In  France,  where  also  the 
land  is  cut  up  into  very  small  estates,  and  the  peasantry  are 
vastly  better  off  than  in  England,  the  rate  of  increase  for  the 
population  for  ten  years  is  only  five  per  cent.  In  England,  for 
the  same  period,  it  was  fifteen  per  cent.  ;  and  in  Connaught, 
the  sink  of  Irish  misery  and  degradation,  between  1821  and 
1881,  it  was  as  high  as  twenty-two  per  cent.  In  Galway  and 
Mayo,  notoriously  two  of  the  most  destitute  counties,  during 
the  same  period,  there  was  an  increase  in  the  one  case  of 
twenty-seven,  and  in  the  other  of  twenty-five,  per  cent.  — 
nearly  as  great  as  in  the  United  States.  Thus,  the  two  ex- 
tremes of  general  misery  and  general  well-being  produce  very 
nearly  the  same  effect  on  the  movement  of  the  population. 

In  all  old  countries,  which  have  long  since  outgrown  what 
may  be  called  the  Colonial  period,  during  which,  as  in  Aus- 
tralia and  the  western  portion  of  the  United  States,  the  abun- 
dance and  cheapness  of  new  land  waiting  to  be  taken  into  cul- 
tivation tempt  most  of  the  people  to  engage  in  agriculture  — 
in  all  old  countries,  I  say,  that  is,  throughout  Europe  and  the 
most  populous  parts  of  Asia,  the  true  law  determining  the 
increase  of  the  population  is  the  very  opposite  of  that  which 
the  Malthusians  sought  to  establish.  They  would  have  us  be- 
lieve that,  in  proportion  as  people  are  well  off  and  have  abun- 
dance of  food,  they  multiply  all  the  faster  ;  while  the  poorer 
classes,  kept  down  by  the  positive  check  —  that  is,  by  the  pri- 
vations, famines,  and  diseases  generated  by  over-population  — 
do  not  multiply  at  all.  But  the  facts  prove  beyond  all  ques- 
tion, that  the  increase  of  any  class  of  the  people  is  in  inverse 
proportion  to  its  wealth  and  social  rank  —  that  is,  to  the 
amount  of  sustenance  which  it  can  easily  command.  Univer- 
sally the  law  is,  that  the  numbers  of  the  poor  increase  most 
rapidly,  of  the  middle  classes  more  slowly,  and  of  the  upper  or 
wealthier  ones  either  not  at  all,  or  so  slowly  as  hardly  to  be 
perceptible.  "  By  a  singular  anomaly,"  says  Alison,  a  well- 


360  MALTHUSIANISM,    DARWINISM,    AND   PESSIMISM. 

informed  English  writer  upon  the  subject,  "  the  rapidity  of  in- 
crease is  in  the  inverse  ratio  of  the  means  which  are  afforded 
of  maintaining  a  family  in  comfort  and  independence.  It  is 
greatest  when  these  means  are  least,  and  least  when  they  are 
the  greatest." 

Thus,  in  Sweden,  the  official  returns  from  the  census  and 
the  registration  of  births,  deaths,  and  marriages  show,  that  the 
rate  of  increase  for  the  peasantry  is  nearly  six  times  greater 
than  that  of  the  middle  class,  and  over  fourteen  times  greater 
than  that  of  the  nobles.  In  England,  it  is  a  matter  of  common 
observation  that  the  families  of  the  nobility  and  landed  gentry 
constantly  tend  to  die  out,  and,  if  they  were  not  recruited  by 
promotions  from  the  middle  classes,  the  upper  orders  of  society 
would  gradually  disappear.  Of  the  barons  who  sat  in  the  Eng- 
lish House  of  Lords  in  1854,  the  peerage  of  considerably  more 
than  one  half  does  not  date  back  beyond  1800 ;  and  not  more 
than  thirty  of  them  can  boast  that  their  ancestors  were  en- 
nobled before  1711.  The  continued  and  increasing  opulence 
of  the  landed  gentry  of  England  is  chiefly  attributable  to  this 
cause  ;  since  the  diminution  of  their  numbers  tends,  of  course, 
to  the  concentration  of  their  estates.  Celibate  or  childless 
lives  are  common  among  the  younger  sons  of  the  nobility  and 
gentry,  while  they  are  very  infrequent  in  the  classes  of  artisans 
and  laborers.  Even  here,  in  the  eastern  part  of  the  United 
States,  the  sons  in  educated  and  wealthy  families  marry  later 
in  life,  and  have  fewer  children,  than  those  in  the  classes  who 
live  by  handiwork  ;  while  the  Irish  laborers  are  the  most  pro- 
lific of  all.  No  farther  back  than  the  beginning  of  this  century, 
families  containing  from  ten  to  fifteen  children  each  were  not 

O 

infrequent  here  in  New  England  ;  now,  one  that  has  more 
than  six  is  seldom  found,  except  among  the  very  poor. 

Since  1850,  therefore,  English  writers  upon  political  economy 
have  generally  ceased  to  advocate  Maltlmsianism  and  its  sub- 
sidiary doctrines.  Many,  like  Doubleday  and  Macdonell,  be- 
sides those  already  mentioned,  renounce  it  altogether ;  others 
pass  over  it  in  silence,  or,  like  Fawcett,  lend  it  only  a  half- 
hearted support.  Even  J.  S.  Mill,  who  inculcated  it  like  a 
fanatic  in  his  great  work  published  in  1847,  seems  to  have 
changed  his  opinions  entirely  before  his  death.  In  his  discus- 


MALTHUSIANISM,    DARWINISM,   AND   PESSIMISM.  361 

sions  with  Mr.  Thornton,  he  gave  up  "  the  wage-fund  "  doc- 
trine, one  of  the  principal  corollaries  from  Malthusianism  ;  and 
in  his  posthumous  papers  upon  Socialism,  published  in  the 
"  Fortnightly  Review  "  in  1879,  he  expressly  teaches  that  mis- 
ery causes  an  increase  of  the  population,  instead  of  the  con- 
verse proposition,  that  over-population  produces  the  misery, 
which  is  the  essence  of  the  Malthusian  theory. 

Singularly  enough,  in  I860,  at  the  very  time  when  this 
gloomy  doctrine  of  "  a  battle  for  life  "  had  nearly  died  out  in 
Political  Economy,  most  of  the  authorities  upon  the  subject 
having  quietly  abandoned  it  as  an  indefensible  speculation,  it 
was  revived  in  Biology,  and  made  the  basis  in  that  science  of 
a  theory  still  more  comprehensive  and  appalling  than  that 
which  had  been  founded  upon  it  by  Malthus.  Among  the 
countless  forms  of  vegetable  and  animal  life  which  are  devel- 
oped through  the  hereditability  of  casual  variations  from  the 
ancestral  type,  "  a  struggle  for  existence"  is  constantly  going 
on  ;  and  it  is  a  necessary  consequence  of  this  struggle  that  the 
fittest  forms  —  that  is,  those  whose  organs  are  best  adapted  to 
their  surroundings  —  should  survive,  and  that  the  others,  the 
comparatively  unfit,  should  perish.  "  The  struggle  for  exist- 
ence among  all  organic  beings  throughout  the  world,"  says 
Mr.  Darwin,  "inevitably  follows  from  their  high  geometrical 
powers  of  increase  ;  "  and  he  adds,  "  This  is  the  doctrine  of 
Malthus  applied  to  the  whole  animal  and  vegetable  kingdoms." 
Hence,  every  improvement,  however  slight,  in  the  adaptation 
of  anv  species  to  its  environment  tends  inevitably  and  mechan- 
ically, as  it  were,  to  make  that  species  a  victor  in  the  battle 
with  all  its  competitors  not  possessing  such  improvement.  The 
accumulation  of  these  improvements  upon  each  other  to  an  un- 
limited extent  fully  accounts  for  the  marvellous  adaptations  of 
means  to  ends  in  organic  life,  which  were  formerly  supposed 
to  have  been  contrived  and  brought  about  by  a  designing  mind. 
Every  one  admits  that  such  adaptations  exist.  Darwinism  de- 
nies that  they  are  purposed  and  intended  adaptations.  And 
this  denial  is  based  upon  the  Malthusian  theory  of  Over-Popu- 
lation, and  must  stand  or  fall  with  that  theory. 

Then  we  have  only  to  recur  to  the  facts  which  have  dis- 
proved Malthusianism  as  a  principle  in  Political  Economy,  in 


862  MALTHUSIANISM,    DARWINISM,    AND   PESSIMISM. 

order  to  find  in  them  also  a  complete  refutation  of  Darwinism. 
In  the  Struggle  for  Existence  between  the  different  classes  of 
human  beings,  it  is  the  lower  classes  which  survive,  because  they 
are  more  prolific  than  those  above  them  ;  while  the  upper 
classes,  just  in  proportion  to  the  degree  of  their  elevation, 
either  increase  very  slowly,  or  tend  to  die  out  altogether.  And 
this  victory  of  the  lower  classes  in  the  battle  for  life  is  a  sur- 
vival, not  of  the  fittest,  but  of  the  unfittest,  so  that  it  constantly 
tends  to  a  deterioration  of  the  race,  instead  of  contributing  to 
its  improvement.  Of  course,  the  upper  classes  enter  into  the 
contest  seemingly  with  all  the  advantages  on  their  side.  Ac- 
cording to  Darwinism,  the  odds  are  altogether  in  their  favor  : 
for  they  have  more  developed,  because  better  educated,  intel- 
lects ;  they  are  free  from  the  many  peculiar  temptations  to 
vice  and  crime,  and  the  countless  liabilities  to  disease,  which 
beset  the  poorer  classes.  On  account  of  their  wealth,  they 
have  nothing  to  dread  from  a  famine,  and  very  little  from  a 
pestilence,  since  by  removal  they  can  generally  get  out  of  its 
range.  They  ai-e  not  early  broken  down  by  excessive  toil ; 
they  are  not  crowded  together  in  unhealthy  habitations  ;  they 
are  protected  against  the  extremes  of  heat  and  cold  ;  they 
have  abundant  opportunities,  by  which  they  profit  more  or 
less,  for  healthful  exercise  in  the  open  air.  Hence  they  have 
sound  constitutions  and  transmit  sound  constitutions  to  their 
children,  being  aided  thereto,  also,  by  a  wider  range  of  sexual 
selection  in  marriage.  On  account  of  all  these  favorable  circum- 
stances, the  death-rate  among  them  is  very  low  —  much  lower 
than  among  those  who  are  far  beneath  them  in  the  social  scale. 
But  all  these  advantages,  and  the  improved  organization 
which  is  founded  upon  them,  if  considered  as  means  and  helps 
toward  a  victory  of  the  upper  classes  in  the  battle  for  life,  are 
as  nothing  when  compared  with  the  one  signal  disadvantage 
under  wrhich  these  classes  labor,  that  the  birth-rate  among 
them,  through  their  own  fault,  is  very  low,  so  that  they  in- 
crease slowly,  or  not  at  all.  Nature  is  just:  those  who  seem 
to  be  her  pets  are,  for  the  very  reason  that  they  are  more  pam- 
pered than  the  others,  in  greater  peril  of  extinction.  Among 
the  combatants  in  the  great  struggle,  those  who  triumph  are 
almost  always  the  more  prolific,  and  those  who  are  satisfied 


MALTHUSIANISM,    DARWINISM,   AND   PESSIMISM.  363 

with  food  which,  though  coarser,  is  more  abundant  and  accessi- 
ble. Those  who  are  rich  and  are  high  in  the  social  scale  are 
too  dainty  in  their  appetites.  They  prize  too  highly  the  luxu- 
ries, the  social  advantages,  on  which  they  have  been  fed.  They 
will  not  imperil  their  position  by  contracting  a  hasty  or  other- 
wise imprudent  marriage,  or  by  cumbering  themselves  with  an 
inconveniently  large  family.  In  countries  where  the  distinc- 
tions of  rank  are  so  strongly  defined  and  deeply  rooted  as  to 
appear  insurmountable,  many  are  contented  to  lead  lives  of  li- 
centious celibacy,  because  they  dread  social  more  than  moral 
death.  And  everywhere,  the  men  of  affluence  and  culture,  the 
highly  born  and  highly  bred —  the  Brahmans  of  society,  as  Dr. 
Holmes  calls  them — prize  the  refinements  of  life,  and  the 
gratification  of  their  social  and  artistic  tastes,  more  than  the 
homely  comforts  and  enjoyments  which  any  one  may  have  who 
can  induce  some  good-natured  woman  to  share  them  with  him. 
Of  course,  their  society  soon  becomes  very  select  through  be- 
coming exceedingly  small.  "  Old  families,"  as  they  are  called, 
have  a  trick  of  rapidly  dying  out,  as  if  to  make  room  for  a  race 
of  pretenders  and  parvenus.  The  Faubourg  St.-Germain  is 
not  the  only  place  in  the  world  which  is  tenanted  by  the  ghosts 
of  a  departed  aristocracy.  It  is  quite  unnecessary  to  cite  sta- 
tistics in  order  to  corroborate  these  statements.  Any  one  may 
convince  himself  of  the  truth  of  them  who  will  look  round 
among  the  families  of  his  acquaintance,  ascertain  how  many 
they  consist  of,  and  compare  them  with  the  families  of  the  ar- 
tisans and  laborers  in  the  next  street.  The  poor  have  a  much 
narrower  range  of  enjoyments  open  to  them  than  the  rich  ;  the 
comforts  of  domestic  life  are  about  the  only  ones  that  are  easily 
accessible  to  the  lowly  ;  and  who  can  wonder  that  these  are 
early  sought  and  highly  prized  ? 

This  law  respecting  the  relative  increase  of  the  several  classes 
of  the  population  is  confirmed  by  the  very  fact,  already  men- 
tioned, which  seems  at  first  to  point  to  a  different  conclusion. 
When  a  new  country  is  colonized,  the  indigenous  barbarous 
tribes  waste  away  before  the  advancing  wave  of  civilization 
like  snow  under  a  July  sun  :  and  this  is  certainly  a  victory  of 
the  superior  race  over  the  inferior.  But  here,  again,  the  issue 
is  determined  in  the  main  by  the  comparative  fecundity  of  the 


364  MALTHUSIAXISM,   DARWINISM,   AND   PESSIMISM. 

competitors,  and  is  but  little  affected  by  the  other  advantages 
of  corporeal  organization,  —  by  slight  differences  in  muscle, 
joint,  and  limb,  —  on  either  side.  The  individual  savage,  as  a 
general  rule,  has  greater  tenacity  of  life  than  his  civilized  rival; 
his  wants  are  fewer ;  he  is  satisfied  with  little  and  poor  food ; 
he  can  withstand  greater  hardships  ;  he  can  live  in  a  desert 
where  the  white  colonist  would  starve.  But  no  matter  ;  he  is 
less  prolific,  and  therefore  invariably  goes  down  in  the  struggle. 
Even  before  they  are  invaded  by  a  civilized  race,  barbarous 
tribes  produce  so  few  children  who  come  to  maturity,  and  are 
so  wasted  by  petty  wars  and  disease,  that  it  is  doubtful  whether, 
in  the  long  run,  they  ever  increase  in  number.  The  North 
American  Indians  whom  our  forefathers  found  here  on  their 
first  arrival  were  certainly  inferior,  both  in  numbers  and  in  the 
mechanic  arts,  to  the  races  which  had  preceded  them.  Wit- 
ness the  structures  reared  by  the  mound-builders,  and  the  im- 
plements found  in  them.  The  Colonists,  on  the  other  hand,  are 
drafted  chiefly  from  the  working-classes,  who  are  the  more 
prolific  even  before  they  leave  their  old  home  ;  and,  in  their 
new  one,  the  cheapness  of  land  and  food,  together  with  the 
scarcity  of  labor,  causes  them  to  multiply  like  rabbits.  There 
is  something  almost  marvellous  in  the  rapid  growth  of  the  pop- 
ulation in  the  early  times  in  New  England.  Farmers,  fisher- 
men, and  clergymen  not  infrequently  seemed  to  vie  with  each 
other  in  the  increasing  size  of  their  families.  What  wonder 
that  the  already  dwindling  tribes  of  the  savages  melted  away 
before  them  ! 

When  we  extend  our  survey  beyond  the  human  race,  we  find 
the  same  law  holds  good  for  the  whole  animal  and  vegeta- 
ble kingdoms,  that  the  relative  increase  of  numbers  is  mainly 
determined  by  the  comparative  fecundity  of  the  species,  irre- 
spective of  slight  differences  of  external  organization.  The 
causes  of  success  in  the  battle  for  life  seem  to  be  physiological, 
rather  than  morphological.  Whether  a  given  plant  or  animal 
shall  be  more  or  less  prolific  seems  to  depend,  in  main  part, 
upon  physiological  processes  internal  to  its  constitution,  and 
hardly  ;it  all  upon  the  adaption  of  its  external  organs  to  its 
environment.  Hence,  as  its  chance  of  survivorship  is  not  in- 
creased by  any  morphological  improvement  which  may  hap- 


MALTHUSIANISM,    DARWINISM,    AND    PESSIMISM.  365 

pen  to  be  induced  upon  it  by  c:isual  variations,  that  improve- 
ment is  useless  in  the  struggle  and  must  soon  disappear. 

Always  the  lower  forms,  which  are  more  prolific,  tend  to  be 
perpetuated  at  the  expense  of  the  higher  ones,  which  are  com- 
paratively sterile.  Hence,  the  most  remarkable  cases  of  fe- 
cundity are  found  very  low  down  in  the  scale  —  among  the 
insects,  for  instance,  and  among  the  fishes  rather  than  the 
mammals.  Thus  it  is  that  some  of  the  lowest  genera  of  vege- 
table and  animal  life  have  come  down  to  us  almost  unchanged 
from  the  earlier  geologic  ages  ;  while  a  multitude  of  higher 
types,  far  more  recent  in  their  introduction,  have  already  died 
out. 

This  conclusion  will  appear  still  more  probable  in  view  of 
a  fact  which  Mr.  Darwin  himself,  with  his  usual  admirable 
candor  in  setting  forth  all  the  circumstances  which  make 
against  his  theory,  as  well  as  those  which  tend  to  corroborate 
it,  mentions,  that  in  proportion  as  a  species  varies  from  its 
original  type,  it  tends  to  become  sterile.  The  cultivated  races, 
which  have  been  much  changed  by  domestication,  seem  to  be 
cursed  with  barrenness.  "  Sterility  has  been  said  to  be  the 
bane  of  our  horticulture  ;  "  and  Mr.  Darwin  adds  that,  on  his 
view,  "  we  owe  variability  to  the  same  cause  which  produces 
sterility  ;  and  variability  is  the  source  of  all  the  choicest  pro- 
ductions of  the  garden." 

An  experienced  breeder  of  domestic  animals,  who  wrote  in 
1849,  eleven  years  before  Darwinism  was  invented,  gives  an 
amusing  account  of  his  endeavors  to  improve  the  breed  of  pigs. 
Beginning  with  a  poor  brute  of  the  native  stock,  a  typical 
specimen  of  all  that  a  well-bred  pig  ought  not  to  be  or  to  do, 
except  that  it  regularly  produced,  twice  a  year,  a  litter  of  six- 
teen, eighteen,  or  even  twenty  little  grunters — "reduplications 
of  mamma"  —  he  endeavored,  by  a  process  of  judicious  selec- 
tion and  crossing,  to  develop  a  fatter  and  handsomer  type. 
And  he  succeeded:  after  not  many  years,  the  aristocratic  ten- 
ants of  his  sties  became  miracles  of  fatness  and  models  of 
symmetry.  But  alas!  when  one  attempts  to  improve  upon 
nature's  handiwork,  tk  things  will  somehow  go  siglee,"  as  the 
Scotch  say.  Now  that  his  pigs  were  promoted  into  the  upper 
classes  of  society,  they  seemed,  like  other  aristocrats,  to  think 


366  MALTHUSIANISM,   DARWINISM,    AND   PESSIMISM. 

that  they  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  eat,  drink,  and  grunt ; 
they  waxed  fat  and  kicked  against  the  old  command  to  increase 
and  multiply.  The  litters  dwindled  to  six,  four,  and  at  length 
to  one ;  "  and  we  are  inclined  to  think  that  our  experience  was 
a  sort  of  epitome  of  high  breeding."  For  he  declares  that  the 
same  law  holds  good  in  respect  to  artificial  breeds  of  cattle  ; 
the  marvellously  " improved  shorthorns"  show  an  unmistaka- 
ble tendency  to  become  sterile,  and  to  revert  into  the  mon- 
grels that  were  the  elements  out  of  which  they  were  concocted. 
So  far,  then,  as  either  the  various  species  of  vegetable  or  an- 
imal life,  or  the  different  classes  of  human  society,  come  into 
competition  with  each  other  at  all,  the  balance  of  their  respec- 
tive numbers  seems  to  be  determined  by  the  counteraction  of 
two  opposing  forces ;  namely,  by  their  relative  fecundity,  and 
by  any  peculiarities  of  their  organization  and  situation  which 
enable  them  to  contend  successfully  against  superior  numbers. 
Chief  among  these  peculiarities  is  the  comparatively  abundant 
supply  of  their  appropriate  food ;  slight  morphological  differ- 
ences of  organization  either  do  not  come  into  play  at  all,  or 
exert  little  influence  on  the  result  of  the  contest.  Since  each 
of  these  forces  operates  as  a  check  on  the  other,  there  is  no 
tendency  to  an  extreme  result  in  either  direction ;  neither  of 
the  competing  races  is  pressed  to  utter  extinction,  or  is  capa- 
ble of  multiplying  beyond  a  definite  limit.  Take  the  family 
of  pachyderms,  for  instance.  On  Darwinian  principles,  the 
elephant  must  be  considered  as  a  highly  developed  species  of 
pig,  and  therefore  as  having  competed  in  a  struggle  for  exist- 
ence with  its  ancestral  type  during  the  immense  interval  of 
time  which  must  have  elapsed  while  the  development  was 
proceeding.  But  even  now,  when  the  superiority  of  organiza- 
tion is  greater  than  ever,  what  chance  has  the  higher  animal, 
which  produces  only  about  six  young  in  a  century,  of  crowding 
out  of  existence  the  lower  type,  which  multiplies  from  ten  to 
twenty  fold  in  the  course  of  a  single  year  ?  Or,  on  the  other 
hand,  what  likelihood  is  there  that  prolific  piggy  will  eat  up 
all  the  food,  and  thus  finally  starve  out  his  gigantic  antagonist, 
whose  size  and  strength  enable  him  easily  to  defend  his  own 
feeding-grounds  and  watering-places  against  all  intruders  ? 
Go  back  then,  to  the  supposed  beginning  of  the  contest,  and 


MALTHUSIANISM,    DARWINISM,    AND   PESSIMISM.  367 

ask  what  advantage  in  it  would  be  acquired  by  a  particular 
class  of  pigs  through  the  very  gradual  elongation  of  their 
snouts,  say,  at  the  rate  of  half  an  inch  in  a  century  ;  or  how 
the  long  noses  could  have  been  perpetuated,  on  Darwinian 
principles,  if  they  continued  to  be  useless  till  they  had  nearly 
attained  the  length  and  flexibility  of  an  elephant's  trunk. 

A  similar  instance  may  be  taken  from  the  order  of  the 
quadrumana.  The  anthropoid  apes  are  assumed  to  be  highly 
developed  species  of  monkeys ;  but  they  certainly  seem  to  have 
gained  no  advantage  in  the  battle  for  life  over  their  lower 
competitors  through  their  superior  organization,  but  rather  to 
have  lost  ground  in  the  struggle,  since  they  are  relatively  so 
inferior  in  numbers  that  they  appear  to  be  in  some  danger  of 
extinction.  Through  being  more  prolific,  less  dainty  in  feed- 
ing, and  abler  to  support  changes  of  climate  and  other  altered 
conditions  of  life,  the  monkeys  evidently  have  the  better  chance 
of  survival.  But  the  higher  apes  certainly  will  not  be  crowded 
out  of  life  merely  by  the  greater  numbers  of  those  below  them, 
since  they  are  abundantly  able  to  protect  themselves  against 
such  encroachment.  Here,  again,  the  balance  of  opposing  ten- 
dencies seems  to  keep  the  relative  numbers  in  the  competing 
species  Avithin  definite  limits,  without  permitting  the  complete 
triumph  of  either  party.  In  many  cases,  the  existence  and  the 
greater  fecundity  of  the  inferior  races  is  a  condition  of  the  sur- 
vival of  those  above  them,  who  are  thus  supplied  with  their 
necessary  food.  Thus,  the  carnivora  of  Central  Africa  are 
more  developed  and  more  tenacious  of  life  than  the  herbivor- 
ous animals  on  which  thev  prey  ;  the  latter  are  thus  prevented 
from  multiplying  unduly,  though  their  entire  extinction,  of 
course,  would  be  fatal  even  to  their  antagonists.  In  all  these 
cases,  and  an  indefinite  number  of  others  that  might  be  cited, 
slight  morphological  differences,  induced  and  perpetuated  in 
the  manner  supposed  bv  Mr.  Darwin,  would  evidently  be  of 
no  account  whatever  iu  determining  the  issue  of  the  contest. 

Malthusiamsm,  then,  is  as  completely  disproved  in  Biology 
as  it  previously  had  been  in  Political  Economy  ;  and  with  it 
disappears  all  that  is  peculiar  to  Darwinism.  There  is  no  such 
Struggle  for  Existence  as  is  supposed  to  be  induced  by  the  ten- 
dency of  every  species  to  an  undue  multiplication  of  its  mini- 


368  MALTHUSIANISM,    DARWINISM,   AND   PESSIMISM. 

bers.  No  one  species  of  form  or  life  has  any  more  reason  to 
dread  being  killed  out  in  such  a  contest,  than  we  human  beings 
have  to  fear  being  starved  through  the  over-population  of  the 
earth.  And,  even  if  a  battle  of  this  sort  were  possible,  victory 
in  it  would  not  depend  on  superiority  of  organization.  The 
existence  not  of  the  lower  races,  but  of  the  higher  ^ones,  would 
be  imperilled.  We  can  foresee  this  result  in  our  own  case, 
Avhether  we  compare  the  different  classes  of  human  society 
with  each  other,  or  man  himself,  the  order  primates,  with  the 
inferior  animals.  In  the  grand  "struggle,"  which  will  occur 
about  the  time  of  the  Greek  Kalends,  the  primitive  stocks, 
such  as  Irish  bog-trotters  and  Welsh  peasants,  would  certainly 
"survive  "  the  nobility  and  gentry,  though  the  latter  profit  by 
the  accumulated  advantages  of  high  breeding  transmitted  by 
direct  inheritance  through  a  pedigree  extending  back  to  Wil- 
liam the  Conqueror.  And,  in  the  final  stage  of  the  conflict, 
even  these  original  poor  representatives  of  humanity  must  die 
out  Ions  before  some  of  the  animals  far  below  them.  Those 

O 

pests  of  our  summer,  the  insect  tribes,  would  sing  the  requiem 
of  man,  and  feast  on  his  remains.  Accordingly,  the  only  orig- 
inal and  distinctive  feature  of  Darwinism  —  its  attempt  to 
explain  away  the  argument  from  design  for  the  being  of  a  God 
by  showing  that  the  supposed  adaptations  of  means  to  ends, 
and  the  admirable  complex  arrangements  by  which  every  por- 
tion of  a  living  organism  is  fitted  to  do  its  proper  work,  may 
all  be  accounted  for  by  the  blind  and  unconscious  action  of 
mechanical  principles  and  physical  laws,  without  calling  in 
anywhere  a  Divine  purpose  or  a  contriving  Mind  —  must  be 
regarded  as  a  baseless  hypothesis.  A  careful  study  of  the 
successive  development  of  the  higher  forms  of  life  upon  the 
earth  does  not  invalidate,  but  fully  confirms,  the  doctrine 
which  has  been  held  by  every  great  thinker,  from  Socrates 
down  to  the  present  day,  that  no  organism  could  have  been 
produced  without  an  organizing  mind. 

The  doctrine  of  the  ascending  successive  development  of  the 
higher  forms  of  life  from  the  types  immediately  below  them, 
each  improved  species  first  appearing  in  a  germ  transmitted 
from  unimproved  parents,  far  from  constituting  a  portion  of 
Darwinism  properly  so  called,  has  been  for  centuries  a  favor- 


MALTHUSIANISM,    DARWINISM,    AND    PESSIMISM.  369 

ite  speculation,  an  accepted  theory,  taught  by  some  of  the 
greatest  thinkers  in  theology  and  philosophy  that  the  world 
has  ever  known.  It  is  merely  the  doctrine  of  derivative  crea- 
tion, or,  in  other  words,  of  creation  in  the  germ,  to  be  sub- 
sequently developed  after  a  longer  or  shorter  interval.  St. 
Augustine,  Thomas  Aquinas,  and  Malebranche  inculcated 
this  theory  without  offence  to  the  Church :  it  was  elaborately 
worked  out  and  defended  by  Leibnitz,  as  an  essential  part  of 
his  system  of  Monadology  ;  and  Charles  Bonnet,  a  follower  of 
Leibnitz,  built  upon  this  foundation  his  ingenious  hypothesis 
of  the  emboitement  of  germs.  Certainly,  as  Christian  theists, 
holding  fast  our  belief  not  only  that  every  new  species,  but 
that  each  individual  living  organism,  originated  in  a  special  act 
of  creation,  we  have  no  quarrel  with  the  doctrine  of  the  suc- 
cessive evolution  from  ancestral  germs  of  higher  and  higher 
forms  of  life  and  mind.  The  record  of  such  evolution  is  only 
the  story  of  God's  providence  and  incessant  creative  action 
throughout  the  long  roll  of  the  geologic  ages  of  this  earth,  and 
extending  back,  perhaps,  to  the  successive  generation  of  new 
planetary  and  stellar  systems  out  of  primitive  chaos.  Who 
shall  tell  us  either  when  God's  creation  began,  or  when  it  was 
finished  ?  The  sole  innovation  of  Darwinism  upon  this  doc- 
trine of  evolution  consisted  in  attempting  to  strip  from  it  all 
proof  of  the  incessant  creative  action  of  a  designing  mind,  by 
reducing  it  to  a  blind  mechanical  process,  necessarily  resulting 
from  inherent  mudborn  energies  and  productive  power.  And 
this  attempt,  resting  solely  upon  the  two  unfounded  assump- 
tions of  a  battle  for  life  and  of  the  necessary  survival  of  the 
higher  organisms  over  the  lower  ones  in  that  contest,  it  has 
now7  been  shown,  must  be  regarded  as  an  ignominious  failure. 
Yet  the  very  making  of  this  attempt  contributed  much  to  the 
speedy  and  joyful  acceptance  of  the  Darwinian  hypothesis  in 
certain  quarters.  It  was  the  pepper  which  made  the  dish  pal- 
atable to  Huxley,  Ilaeckel  &  Co.,  —  that  is,  to  those  English 
and  German  naturalists  whose  previous  bias  in  favor  of  mate- 
rialism and  fatalism  indisposed  them  to  recognize  anywhere 
any  proofs  of  the  being  of  a  God. 

But  we  have  not  yet  witnessed  the  last  or  the  worst  con- 
sequences of  the  Malthusian  theory  of  Over-Population.    After 


370  MALTHUSIANISM,   DARWINISM,   AND   PESSIMISM. 

inducing  economical  science  to  regard  with  hard-hearted  indif- 
ference the  misery  of  the  poor,  and  to  teach  positive  cruelty  as 
the  only  means  of  diminishing  the  amount  of  their  suffering, 
and  after  instructing  Biology  to  deny  the  validity  of  the  prin- 
cipal argument  for  the  being  of  a  God,  we  have  still  to  con- 
sider the  results  of  the  adoption  of  this  ill-omened  hypothesis 
into  what  may  well  be  called  the  Philosophy  of  Despair.  The 
atheists  of  Germany,  where  alone  the  infidel  doctrine  is  openly 
avowed  and  systematically  taught  in  all  its  appalling  conse- 
quences, have  at  last  convinced  themselves  that  Atheism  leads 
by  necessary  inference  to  Pessimism.  In  their  own  sad  expe- 
rience and  their  reasoned  reflections  upon  life,  they  have  been 
compelled  to  acknowledge  the  fidelity  of  the  picture  which 
Jean  Paul  (Richter)  presented  only  as  an  appalling  "  dream  " 
—  that  of  a  world  without  a  God.  A  miserable  world  they 
find  it  to  be,  destitute  alike  of  happiness,  dignity,  or  hope  ;  and 
they  passionately  declare  that  man's  life  in  it  is  merely  a  con- 
fused noise  between  two  silences,  and  is  not  only  not  worth 
living,  but  is  an  intolerable  burden,  so  that  the  sooner  it  can 
be  shaken  off  the  better.  An  orphan  universe,  dust-born,  gen- 
erated and  controlled  only  by  the  pitiless  action  of  blind  me- 
chanical forces,  allowing  no  sense  of  responsibility  and  no 
sanction  for  morality,  void  of  any  belief  in  the  fatherhood  of 
God  or  in  the  brotherhood  of  man,  is  a  source  only  of  misery 
and  despair,  and  the  best  course  for  the  conscious  beings  now 
doomed  to  inhabit  it  is  to  lead  it  to  speedy  painless  extinction. 
It  is  overpeopled  so  far  as  it  is  peopled  at  all.  Apply  "•  the 
preventive  check"  of  Malthus,  therefore,  in  its  full  extent  and 
with  the  utmost  rigor.  Let  man  cease  to  propagate  his  kind. 
We  have  no  right  to  inflict  the  misery  of  existence  upon  a 
future  generation,  who  have  not  been  asked  whether  they 
were  willing  to  endure  the  burden,  and  who,  as  they  are  not 
yet  in  being,  certainly  cannot  suffer  wrong  in  not  being  called 
into  existence,  even  if  they  should  be  foolish  enough  hereafter 
to  regard  their  life  as  a  blessing  rather  than  a  curse.  The  sui- 
cide of  individuals  is  faintly  condemned,  not  on  the  ground  of 
its  being  in  itself  an  immoral  act,  but  because  it  Avould  be  par- 
tial and  limited  in  its  consequences,  not  accomplish  ing  soon 
enough,  if  at  all,  the  great  purpose  of  bringing  the  whole 


MALTHUSIANISM,    DARWINISM,    AND   PESSIMISM.  371 

world  to  an  end  through  an  act  of  cosmic  suicide.  It  would 
be  awkward,  it  is  true,  openly  to  counsel  self-murder,  since 
those  who  gave  such  advice  might  be  called  upon  to  act  con- 
sistently with  their  principles  ;  and  they  confess  the  difficulty 
of  ridding  themselves  altogether  of  a  hankering  after  life,  and 
a  fear  to  go  down  into  the  dark.  Better  allow  the  human  race 
to  die  out  quietly,  as  it  would  do  were  there  no  more  births. 
Schopenhauer  does  not  take  so  lenient  a  view  of  the  case,  for 
he  coarsely  says,  "  The  truth  is,  men  ought  to  be  miserable, 
and  they  are  so  ;  "  for  they  have  committed  the  unpardonable 
crime  of  being  born. 

These  are  not  merely  the  morbid  fancies  of  a  few  misan- 
thropes and  eccentric  thinkers,  intent  only  upon  startling  the 
world  with  their  paradoxes.  If  they  were  so,  it  would  be  idle 
to  call  attention  to  them  here,  and  to  give  them  the  notoriety 
which  they  covet.  An  isolated  poet  here  or  there,  like  Byron 
or  Leopardi,  can  do  little  harm  with  his  pessimistic  imagin- 
ings ;  as  in  Dante's  case,  we  can  pardon  some  bad  philosophy 
for  much  good  poetry ;  and  we  listen  with  only  a  silent  protest 
to  the  ringing  lines  of  the  noble  Englishman,  not  fearing  that 
any  one  will  be  made  a  convert  by  them  :  — 

"  Count  o'er  the  joys  thine  hours  have  seen, 

Count  o'er  thy  d;iys  from  anguish  free, 
And  know,  whatever  thou  hast  been, 
'T  is  something  better  not  to  be." 

But  these  German  atheists  and  pessimists  have  multiplied 
till  they  have  become  a  sect  formidable  alike  from  their  num- 
bers, their  ability,  the  fanatical  zeal  and  persistency  with 
which  they  preach  their  doctrines,  and  the  extent  to  which 
they  are  already  influencing  opinion  and  conduct,  not  only  in 
their  own  land,  but  in  neighboring  countries.  The  popularity 
of  their  writings  indicates  a  peril  witli  which  civilization  itself 
is  menaced,  through  the  corruption  and  recklessness  of  those 
who  should  be  its  safeguards  —  the  upper  classes  of  society. 
Of  course,  their  theory  is  not  directly  upheld  or  advocated  in 
any  seminary  of  learning  which  is  under  the  immediate  con- 
trol of  the  government,  but  is  zealously  controverted,  I  be- 
lieve, by  all  the  official  teachers  of  philosophy.  Outside  of 
the  universities,  however,  it  has  become  as  prevalent  and  as 


372  MALTHUSIANISM,   DAEWINISM,   AND  PESSIMISM. 

popular  as  Hegelianism  was  forty  years  ago.  It  lias  em- 
boldened the  anarchists,  and  made  the  men  who  are  avowedly 
endeavoring  to  subvert  all  the  institutions  of  society  more  dar- 
ing and  reckless  than  ever.  The  most  dangerous  of  all  heresies 
is  that  which  inculcates  a  contemptuous  disregard  of  human 
life,  since  he  who  does  not  value  his  own  safety  will  be  most 
prompt  and  fearless  in  attacking  the  safety  of  others.  Society 
can  protect  itself  against  the  secret  assassin,  who  has  still  some 
fear  left  of  the  scaffold  and  the  axe  as  the  punishment  of  his 
crime.  Neither  has  it  much  reason  to  fear  homicidal  in- 
sanity, since  madmen  cannot  act  in  concert  with  each  other, 
and  an  individual  is  easily  overpowered  and  disarmed.  But 
educated  men,  who  have  come  to  regard  their  own  lives  as 
only  a  burden  to  them,  though  they  have  been  driven  to  de- 
spair, not  by  the  privations  and  miseries  which  afflict  the 
hopelessly  poor,  but  by  an  insensate  theory  which  teaches 
them  to  consider  the  existence  of  the  human  race  itself  as  an 
intolerable  evil,  that  can  be  abated  most  effectually  by  re- 
ducing society  to  anarchy  and  ruin,  and  who  have  prepared 
themselves  for  the  admission  of  this  theory  by  getting  rid  of 
all  the  restraints  of  morality  and  religion  —  these  are  foes 
truly  formidable,  against  whom  all  the  precautions  and  means 
of  defence  which  governments  can  institute  seem  to  be  of  little 
avail.  This  is  the  real  ground  of  the  terror  recently  inspired 
by  the  Nihilists  in  Russia,  and  by  the  leaders  of  what  is  called 
"  the  social  democracy  "  in  Germany.  These  men  have  made 
themselves  hostes  kumani  generis.  In  the  former  case,  the 
numerous  adherents  of  the  sect  appear  to  be  drawn  exclusively 
from  the  upper  classes  of  society,  the  populace  being  not  only 
not  with  them,  but  against  them,  since  the  lower  ranks  believe 
both  in  religion  and  the  Czar.  In  Germany,  where  infidel 
opinions  have  filtrated  lower  down  through  the  strata  of  so- 
ciety, the  laboring  class  have  joined  to  some  extent  in  the 
movement  ;  but  the  leadership  of  the  party,  both  in  theory 
and  action,  seems  to  be  entirely  in  the  hands  of  reckless, 
educated  men.  These  are  the  persons  who  recently  attempted 
to  assassinate  both  the  Emperor  William  and  the  Czar,  and  it 
is  against  them  that  the  energetic  proceedings  of  the  Govern- 
ment in  both  cases  have  been  directed.  In  each  instance,  the 


MALTIIUSIANISM,    DARWINISM,    AND   PESSIMISM.  373 

assassin  seems  to  have  attempted  murder  chiefly  as  a  means  of 
committing  suicide,  but  with  some  hope  also,  through  the  tur- 
moil and  possible  anarchy  thus  produced,  to  have  accomplished 
something  toward  bringing  the  universe  itself  nearer  to  its 
termination. 

This  lamentable  state  of  things  in  respect  to  the  opinions 
and  the  conduct  of  those  who  should  be  the  better  classes  of 
society  is  not  without  a  parallel  at  an  earlier  stage  of  the 
world's  history.  We  find  a  near  approximation  to  it,  if  not  its 
perfect  counterpart,  in  the  character  and  behavior  of  the  Ro- 
man patriciate  under  the  Empire  ;  and  a  striking  portraiture  of 
its  leading  features  might  be  drawn  from  the  gloomy  writings 
of  Tacitus,  Juvenal,  and  Suetonius.  Most  of  the  Emperors 
were  bad  enough,  but  they  were  no  worse  than  the  classes 
whence  the  Emperors  were  drawn,  the  patricians,  the  senators, 
and  the  high  officers  of  the  army  and  the  administration.  The 
old  polytheistic  religion  had  died  out  with  these  men,  and  a 
new  system  of  faith  had  not  yet  found  access  to  their  minds. 
They  had  ceased  to  believe  in  anything  except  a  debased  form 
of  Epicureanism  and  the  fatalism  of  the  Stoics,  which  pointed 
directly  to  suicide  whenever  the  means  of  sensual  pleasure 
were  exhausted.  They  were  not  cowardly  or  feeble  in  charac- 
ter, or  uninstructed  ;  they  had  all  the  refinement  and  culture 
which  belonged  to  their  age,  possessing  either  immediately,  or 
by  direct  inheritance,  the  brilliant  accomplishments,  the  learn- 
ing, literature,  and  art  of  the  Augustan  period.  They  were 
not  void  of  ambition  and  energy,  since  the  only  things  which, 
in  their  eyes,  still  gave  any  zest  to  life  were  wealth,  pomp,  and 
power.  They  played  for  high  stakes  in  any  desperate  project 
for  amassing  these  prizes  ;  and  if  the  game  turned  against 
them,  and  a  brief  intimation  of  the  Emperor's  will  arrived, 
they  assembled  their  friends  for  a  final  joyous  banquet,  and 
then  cheerfully  swallowed  poison  or  opened  their  veins  in  a 
bath.  Life's  poor  play  was  over,  and  they  deemed  themselves 
well  rid  of  it.  As  they  were  men  of  utterly  profligate  lives, 
and  there  was  almost  a  general  license  of  divorce,  they  had  no 
family  attachments  ;  either  they  did  not  marry  at  all,  or  they 
took  good  care  not  to  cumber  themselves  with  children.  Ju- 
venal indignantly  reproaches  them  for  the  moans  employed  to 
this  end. 


374  MALTHUSIANISM,   DARWINISM,   AND   PESSIMISM. 

"  Sed  jaeet  aurato  vix  ulla  puerpera  lecto, 
Tantum  artes  hujus,  tantum  medicamina  possunt." 

For  those  who  had  great  wealth,  the  surest  mode  of  increasing 
their  power  and  influence  was  to  remain  childless,  and  to  hold 
out  hopes  to  legacy-hunters  and  those  who  sought  to  become 
their  adopted  heirs  ;  thus  they  surrounded  themselves  with  a 
stronger  crew  of  adherents  and  dependents.  Even  the  Em- 
perors, most  of  whom  were  childless,  endeavored  in  this  way 
to  fortify  their  hold  upon  power ;  and  the  adopted  Caesar,  by 
taking  immediately  an  active  share  in  the  government,  was 
allowed  to  taste  by  anticipation  the  joys  of  being  the  absolute 
master  of  the  civilized  world.  The  wiser  heads  among  them, 
Augustus  and  Trajan,  saw  the  extent  of  the  evil ;  they  per- 
ceived that  the  interests  of  civilization  were  at  stake,  and  that 
the  state  was  in  peril  through  the  rapid  dying  out  of  the  very 
classes  which  should  have  been  its  ornament  and  defence. 
They  endeavored  to  apply  a  remedy,  by  multiplying  laws  in 
favor  of  marriage,  and  offering  bounties  and  privileges  to  the 
heads  of  families  containing  children.  The  jus  trium  libero- 
rum,  by  which  the  parent  having  at  least  three  children  was 
freed  from  all  personal  charges,  was  but  one  of  a  large  number 
of  enactments  having  the  same  end  in  view.  But  the  plague 
had  spread  too  far  and  struck  too  deep  to  be  arrested  by  any 
process  of  legislation.  The  upper  classes  of  society  continued 
to  dwindle  away  and  vanish  from  the  stage,  as  if  not  only 
their  morals  and  their  civilization,  but  their  very  blood,  had 
become  corrupt ;  and  Rome  at  last  fell  because  there  were  no 
longer  any  proper  Romans  left  to  defend  her  against  barbarian 
inroads. 

German  Pessimism,  as  a  system  of  philosophy,  is  of  very  re- 
cent origin,  though  it  has  been  rapidly  developed  into  a  com- 
plete theory  of  metaphysics,  aesthetics,  and  ethics,  and  is  al- 
ready practically  applied  as  a  body  of  principles  to  the  regula- 
tion of  the  thoughts  and  the  conduct  of  man.  It  is  not  older 
than  Schopenhauer's  principal  work,  "  The  World  as  Will  and 
Presentation,"  which  was  nominally  published  in  1818,  though 
it  hardly  became  known  or  exerted  any  appreciable  influence 
before  about  18  ">0.  Since  that  date,  the  discussion  of  the 
subject  has  been  active,  and  the  doctrine  has  rapidly  gained 


MALTHUSIANISM,   DARWINISM,   AND   PESSIMISM.  375 

ground,  its  adherents  constituting  a  numerous  and  zealous  sect, 
so  that  the  literature  devoted  to  it  is  already  of  considerable 
dimensions.  Besides  Edward  von  Hartmann,  who  in  learning 
and  ability  has  certainly  the  chief  place  among  them,  and  in 
popularity  and  influence  is  not  second  to  any  of  his  philo- 
sophical contemporaries,  a  host  of  others  have  published  works 
of  more  or  less  note  in  exposition  and  defence  of  the  system. 
Among  them  may  be  mentioned  Frauenstiidt,  Bahnsen,  Tau- 
bert,  Mainlander,  Venetianer,  and  Du  Prel.  The  two  works 
bearing  immediately  upon  that  portion  of  the  subject  with 
which  we  are  here  specially  concerned  are,  first,  Philip  Main- 
lander's  "  Philosophy  of  Redemption,"  a  thick  octavo,  written 
with  much  literary  skill  and  a  fervid  eloquence,  which  was 
published  at  Berlin  in  187(3,  and,  secondly,  Von  Hartmann's 
"  Phenomenology  of  the  Moral  Consciousness,"  a  very  elaborate 
work,  which  first  appeared  in  the  same  city  only  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  present  year  (1880).  Each  of  these  books  particu- 
larly considers  the  duty  and  the  means  of  effecting  what  they 
call  "  the  salvation  of  the  world  "  —  that  is,  of  redeeming  the 
universe  from  the  burden  of  its  miserable  existence. 

There  is  a  wide  difference  of  opinion  among  the  doctors  of 
Pessimism  in  respect  to  the  course  of  action  to  be  pursued, 
and  the  conduct  which  is  to  be  enjoined  upon  their  disciples. 
While  they  are  all  agreed  as  to  the  end  in  view,  as  to  the  ex- 
pediency and  the  duty  of  bringing  the  world  to  an  end  as  soon 
as  possible,  they  differ  in  respect  to  the  means  to  be  employed, 
and  the  practicability  of  effecting  their  purpose  at  an  earlier 
or  a  later  day.  None  of  them  directly  and  openly  counsel 
suicide,  as  it  would  be  inconvenient  for  them  to  be  called  upon 
to  u  reck  their  own  rede,"  and  as  the  advice  at  best  would  be 
followed  only  by  the  proselytes  of  the  sect.  As  yet,  these  are 
to  be  found  only  among  the  educated  classes  in  Russia  and 
Germany,  and  their  disappearance  from  the  stage  would  stop 
the  dissemination  of  their  principles,  while  the  rest  of  man- 
kind would  then  multiply  all  the  faster.  Only  Schopenhauer, 
whose  suspicious  and  gloomy  temperament  made  him  famil- 
iar with  the  darkest  possible  aspects  of  life,  indirectly  favors 
self-murder,  by  advising  men  no  longer  to  have  any  volitions 
whatsoever,  and  thereby,  through  mere  passivity  and  inani- 


376  MALTHUSIANISM,    DARWINISM,   AND   PESSIMISM. 

tion,  to  fall  back  into  the  comparatively  happy  realm  of  noth- 
ingness whence  they  came.  Hartmann  justly  objects,  that  this 
amounts  to  a  recommendation  of  the  most  painful  form  of 
death,  by  voluntary  starvation,  and  would  merely  induce  those 
who  as  yet  are  not  converted  to  Pessimism  to  increase  in  num- 
ber more  rapidly  than  ever,  in  order  to  fill  the  opening  thus 
created.  The  disappearance  of  the  enlightened  few  would 
thus  tend  to  a  permanent  deterioration  of  the  race,  though  not 
to  its  annihilation,  nor  to  a  permanent  diminution  of  its  num- 
bers ;  since  the  indolent,  the  reckless,  and  the  base  would  soon 
occupy  the  ground  which  better  men  had  foolishly  abandoned. 

The  bitter  spirit  in  which  Mainlander  writes  is  well  in- 
dicated in  a  quotation  which  he  makes  from  the  posthumous 
memoirs  of  Alexander  von  Humboldt.  "  I  was  not  born," 
says  Humboldt,  "  in  order  to  be  the  father  of  a  family.  More- 
over, I  regard  marriage  as  a  sin,  and  the  propagation  of  chil- 
dren as  a  crime.  It  is  my  conviction  also  that  he  is  a  fool, 
and  still  more  a  sinner,  who  takes  upon  himself  the  yoke  of 
marriage — a  fool,  because  he  thereby  throws  away  his  free- 
dom, without  gaining  a  corresponding  recompense  ;  a  sinner, 
because  he  gives  life  to  children,  without  being  able  to  give 
them  the  certainty  of  happiness.  I  despise  humanity  in  all  its 
strata.  I  foresee  that  our  posterity  will  be  far  more  unhappy 
than  we  are  ;  and  should  not  I  be  a  sinner,  if,  in  spite  of  this 
insight,  I  should  take  care  to  leave  a  posterity  of  unhappy  be- 
ings behind  me  ?  The  whole  of  life  is  the  greatest  insanity. 
And  if  for  eighty  years  one  strives  and  inquires,  still  one  is 
obliged  finally  to  confess  that  he  has  striven  for  nothing  and 
has  found  ont  nothing.  Did  we  at  least  only  know  why  we 
are  in  this  world  !  But  to  the  thinker,  everything  is  and  re- 
mains a  riddle  ;  and  the  greatest  good  luck  is  that  of  being 
born  a  ilathead." 

And  to  arrive  at  this  conviction,  we  should  add,  is  the 
natural  consequence,  even  for  the  largest  intellect,  of  having 
lived  for  eighty  years  in  the  world  without  any  belief  in  the 
being  of  a  (iod.  and  without  any  nobler  purpose  than  that  of 
self-aggrandizement.  What  Mainlander  immediately  adds  to 
this  extract,  though  intended  as  a  eulogy,  is  in  truth  a  bitter 
satire  upon  Humboldt's  words  and  his  conduct :  ''  ;Did  we  at 


MALTHUSIANISM,    DARWINISM,    AND   PESSIMISM.  377 

least  only  know  why  we  are  in  this  world  !  '  Then,  in  the 
whole  rich  life  of  this  highly  endowed  man,  there  was  nothing, 
absolutely  nothing,  which  he  could  have  apprehended  as  the 
ultimate  end  and  aim  of  life.  Not  the  joy  of  creating ;  not  the 
priceless  steps  of  genius  advancing  in  knowledge;  absolutely 
nothing." 

Very  true  !  Without  any  consciousness  of  a  higher  purpose 
as  our  being's  end  and  aim  than  the  mere  gratification  of 

O  o 

curiosity,  though  this  be  dignified  with  the  sounding  name  of 
"  the  advancement  of  knowledge,"  life  would  be  destitute  of 
either  dignity,  grace,  or  importance.  It  would  not  be  worth 
living. 

In  fact,  this  quotation  from  Ilumboldt  contains  the  gist  of 
Mainlander's  whole  Philosophy  of  Salvation.  lie  has  but  one 
lesson  to  teach,  and  but  one  duty  to  inculcate  :  it  is  that  of 
celibacy  and  perfect  chastity.  In  his  preface,  he  boasts  that 
he  has  not  allowed  atheism  any  longer,  like  religion,  to  rest 
upon  a  foundation  of  faith,  but  that  its  truth  has  been  by  him 
for  the  first  time  scientifically  demonstrated.  In  his  view  of 
coining  death,  therefore,  the  wise  man  will  no  longer  be 
troubled  by  any  apprehension  of  a  hereafter.  Undisturbed  by 
the  thought  either  of  a  heaven  or  a  hell,  he  will  welcome  the 
death-stroke  as  his  introduction  to  a  haven  of  rest,  as  the  end 
of  a  life  which  has  been  only  a  prolongation  of  turmoil,  labor, 
suffering,  and  anxiety.  Nothing  could  sadden  his  last  moments 
of  consciousness,  except  the  reflection  that  he  was  to  live  again 
in  his  children  ;  that,  in  order  to  procure  for  himself  a  brief  en- 
joyment, he  had  inflicted  upon  others  the  burden  of  an  in- 
tolerable life,  and  thereby,  in  so  far,  had  prolonged  the  suffer- 
ings of  the  universe. 

On  the  other  hand,  Hartmann  earnestly  protests  against 
following  such  advice,  on  the  ground  that  it  would  only  in- 
tensify the  action  of  causes  already  at  work  by  which  the 
highest  interests  of  civilization  are  imperilled.  His  philosophy, 
like  that  of  Hegel,  prides  itself  on  the  reconciliation  of  con- 
tradictory principles,  and  is  probably  indebted  to  this  its 
Janus-faced  aspect  for  much  of  its  present  popularity.  Thus 
he  is  an  Optimist,  because  he  holds,  like  Leibnitz,  that  this  is 
the  best  possible  universe  ;  but  he  is  also  a  Pessimist,  on  the 


378  MALTHUSIAXISM,   DARWINISM,   AND   PESSIMISM. 

ground  that  the  best  is  bad  enough,  and  the  present  universe 
is  so  bad  that  it  would  be  far  better  if  it  did  not  exist  at  all. 
In  every  respect,  non-being  is  preferable  to  being,  for  it  is  in- 
capable of  the  suffering  which  is  inseparable  from  the  very 
nature  of  existence.  The  only  question  left  concerns  the 
proper  choice  of  means  for  bringing  the  world  to  a  speedy  and 
effectual  termination  ;  and  Hartmann  maintains  that,  far  from 
checking  the  growth  of  the  population,  the  best  course  is  to 
increase  and  multiply  as  fast  as  possible.  In  proportion  as  the 
human  race  becomes  more  numerous,  the  Struggle  for  Exist- 
ence will  be  fiercer  and  more  desperate,  the  misery  so  pro- 
duced will  be  greater,  and  the  combatants  will  be  the  sooner 
reconciled  to  the  idea  of  giving  up  the  fruitless  contest  alto- 
gether, and  sinking  back  into  the  comparatively  blissful  repose 
of  nothingness.  Our  duty,  then,  is  not  only  to  favor  the 
growth  of  population,  but  in  eveiy  way  to  promote  the  prog- 
ress of  enlightenment  and  the  spread  of  civilization.  Man- 
kind must  be  educated  up  to  Pessimism  ;  all  classes,  all  tribes 
and  nations,  must  become  convinced  of  the  folly  and  misery  of 
existence,  before  a  concerted  and  vigorous  effort  can  be  made 
to  get  rid  of  the  burden  altogether.  Meanwhile,  not  by  a 
cowardly  and  selfish  withdrawal  from  the  conflict,  as  Schopen- 
hauer and  Mainlander  recommend,  leaving  the  ignorant  multi- 
tude behind,  deprived  of  their  leaders  and  teachers,  to  multiply 
and  suffer  more  than  ever,  but  by  entering  heartily  into  the 
battle  for  life,  bearing  its  sorrows  and  teaching  others  to  bear 
them,  may  we  hope  to  promote  the  final  redemption  of  man- 
kind from  the  woes  which  now  afflict  them. 

Three  illusions  must  be  entirely  overcome,  according  to 
Hartmann,  before  this  consummation  can  be  reached.  The 
first  consists  in  supposing  that  positive  happiness  is  attainable 
by  individuals  in  this  life,  at  the  present  stage  of  development 
of  the  world's  history  ;  and  he  argues  at  great  length  that  this 
doctrine  is  confuted  by  experience.  The  second  illusion  is  the 
belief  that  such  happiness  may  be  acquired  hereafter,  in  a 
transcendent  and  immortal  life  beyond  the  grave  ;  and  this 
belief  is  rejected,  of  course,  as  it  conflicts  at  every  point  with 
the  tenets  of  Pessimism.  The  third  stage  of  the  illusion  is 
that  dream  of  the  future  perfectibility  of  the  human  race  in 


MALTHUSIANISM,    DARWINISM,    AND   PESSIMISM.  379 

which  Condorcet  and  Godwin  indulged,  which  is  to  be  realized 
when  the  Philosophical  Radicals  shall  have  so  far  reformed 
all  laws  and  political  institutions  as  to  establish  upon  this  earth 
the  perfect  reign  of  liberty,  equality,  and  fraternity  ;  to  have 
finally  dissipated  this  dream,  as  we  have  seen,  is  the  glory  of 
Malthusianism.  Aid,  then,  in  every  way  the  advancement 
and  diffusion  of  knowledge  ;  for  "  he  that  increases  knowledge 
increases  sorrow,"  and  men  will  thus  the  sooner  outgrow  these 
three  forms  of  illusion.  Favor  the  increase  of  numbers  also, 
as  civilization  will  thus  be  more  rapidly  diffused  over  all  lands, 
and  the  evils  caused  by  Over-Population  will  tend  more  and 
more  to  convince  mankind  of  the  misery  of  existence  and  the 
expediency  of  bringing  the  universe  to  an  end.  Positive  hap- 
piness is  unattainable  ;  but  negative  happiness,  the  painless- 
ness  of  non-existence,  is  a  goal  within  our  reach.  There  will 
be  at  least  a  rest  from  sorrow  in  the  grave  of  all  things. 

If  the  advice  of  Mainlander  were  followed,  Hartmann  ar- 
gues, the  only  consequence  would  be  to  degrade  and  brutalize 
humanity,  to  give  ignorance,  feebleness,  and  stupidity  the  vic- 
tory over  intellect  and  character,  and  to  make  the  world  more 
populous  than  ever  with  a  debased  type  of  inhabitants.  Un- 
happily, many  causes  are  even  now  at  work  to  bring  about 
this  very  undesirable  issue.  The  tendency,  already  noticed, 
of  the  educated  classes  to  die  out  altogether,  while  those  far 
below  them  in  the  scale  are  multiplying  with  ominous  rapid- 
ity, is  the  plague-spot  of  our  modern  civilization.  I  have 
pointed  out  its  deplorable  results  in  the  case  of  the  Roman 
Empire  ;  and  the  speedy  decline  and  corruption,  after  the  age 
of  Demosthenes,  of  Athenian  culture  and  refinement,  are  prob- 
ably attributable,  in  a  considerable  degree,  to  the  action  of  the 
same  cause.  It  is  the  inherent  vice  of  an  aristocracy  of  wealth 
and  intellect,  who  are  intent  upon  nothing  so  much  as  the 
adoption  of  any  efficient  means  for  preserving  the  superiority 
of  their  class  above  the  vulgar.  But  it  is  a  suicidal  policy  ; 
for,  while  it  has  a  deceptive  semblance  of  strengthening  the 
position  and  influence  of  individual  families,  through  prevent- 
ing these  advantages  from  being  parcelled  out  among  too  many 
heirs,  it  is  destructive  of  the  best  interests  of  the  class  as  a 
whole,  and  must  soon  lead  to  its  entire  extinction.  Civiliza- 


380  MALTHUSIANISM,    DARWINISM,    AND   PESSIMISM. 

tion  cannot  be  kept  alive  and  transmitted  undiminished  to 
posterity,  if  the  members  of  the  educated  classes  think  it  a 
burden  to  have  large  families,  and  if  even  the  women  prefer 
to  find  some  other  vocation  in  life  than  that  of  bearing  chil- 
dren and  educating  them.  If  a  process  of  what  the  Darwin- 
ites  would  call  "  negative  selection  "  is  to  go  on,  if  only  the 
creatures  of  a  lower  type  are  freely  to  propagate  their  kind, 
the  average  level  of  the  species  must  be  lowered,  and  a  general 
deterioration  of  society  is  inevitable.  Persons  of  wealth,  cult- 
ure, and  refinement,  instead  of  adopting  the  selfish  policy  of 
Mainlander,  and  taking  care  only  for  their  personal  redemption 
from  the  ills  of  life,  should  seek  rather  to  transmit  by  inher- 
itance their  high  qualities  of  mind  and  character  to  a  future 
generation,  and  teach  their  children  how  to  use  these  personal 
advantages  in  continuous  efforts  to  promote  the  civilization 
and  ennoble  the  type  of  humanity.  If  they  do  not  fill  the 
vacant  places  on  the  earth's  surface,  these  will  soon  be  occupied 
by  the  progeny  of  the  ignorant  and  the  debased,  who,  in  this 
respect,  are  the  dangerous  classes  of  society. 


BLAISE   PASCAL. 

FROM    THE    NORTH    AMERICAN    REVIEW    FOR    APRIL,    1845. 

GKEAT  precocity  of  genius,  however  developed  or  employed, 
seldom  fails  to  excite  at  least  as  much  alarm  and  pity  as  ad- 
miration in  the  judicious  spectator.  If  not  in  itself  a  token 
of  disease  already  formed,  and  working  as  a  stimulus  on  the 
brain,  it  is  sure  to  lead  quickly  to  some  morbid  action  of  the 
physical  frame,  and  ere  long  to  dry  up  the  fountains  of  life. 
It  seems  as  if  only  a  given  amount  of  work  can  be  done.  If 
more  is  accomplished  at  an  early  period,  a  shorter  term  of  life 
remains  for  further  achievements.  Hence  a  note  of  lamenta- 
tion, a  mournful  presentiment,  always  mingles  with  the  ad- 
miring applause  which  greets  every  new  and  wonderful  effort 
of  a  youthful  prodigy.  We  mourn  that  this  early  excellence 
should  be  purchased  at  so  high  a  price,  —  that  premature 
strength  and  beauty  of  mind  should  be  doomed  to  premature 
decay. 

Blaise  Pascal,  the  boy  Euclid,  the  contemporary  and  peer  of 
Torricelli,  Huygens,  and  Descartes,  the  scourge  of  the  Jesuits, 
the  boast  of  the  Port  Royal  school  of  theologians  and  philoso- 
phers, the  earliest  writer  of  correct  and  elegant  French  prose, 
the  master  in  eloquence  of  Bossuet,  and  the  object  of  the  un- 
willing homage  even  of  Voltaire,  died  at  the  age  of  thirty- 
nine.  All  his  important  writings,  except  the  "  Thoughts," 
which  was  a  posthumous  publication,  appeared  several  years 
before  his  death  ;  and  his  most  valuable  contributions  to  sci- 
ence were  made  before  he  was  thirty.  As  a  boy,  he  seemed 
miraculously  endowed,  and  the  abundant  promise  of  his  youth 
was  fully  sustained  by  the  rich  fruit  of  his  early  manhood. 
Bodily  weakness  and  suffering,  to  which  he  was  a  lifelong 
martyr,  far  from  impairing,  seemed  only  to  heighten  the  pre- 
ternatural acuteness  and  strength  of  his  intellect,  as  a  hectic 


382  BLAISE  PASCAL. 

flush  improves  the  beauty  and  expressiveness  of  the  features. 
All  that  he  accomplished  in  science  and  philosophy,  great  as 
was  its  intrinsic  value,  only  leaves  the  impression  that  he  had 
much  in  reserve.  His  discoveries  and  inventions  are  rather  the 
indications,  than  the  full  fruits,  of  the  vigor  and  comprehen- 
siveness of  his  genius.  They  showed  what  he  might  have 
done,  if  his  ambition  had  been  greater,  or  if  it  had  not  been 
so  early  checked  and  turned  into  a  different  channel  by  relig- 
ious enthusiasm. 

No  full  and  satisfactory  account  of  his  life  and  works  has 
ever  appeared.  There  are  eulogies  upon  him  in  plenty,  but 
they  give  only  a  meagre  and  fragmentary  view  of  his  labors, 
and  supply  few  materials  for  a  complete  portrait  of  his  char- 
acter and  genius.  The  memoir  of  him  by  his  sister,  Madame 
Perier,  who  shared  the  fervor  of  his  religious  feelings,  is  short, 
and  gives  us  little  more  than  a  record  of  his  bodily  sufferings, 
and  illustrations  of  the  remarkable  purity,  generosity,  severity 
of  principle,  and  self-devotion,  which  characterized  his  whole 
life.  Later  authors  among  his  countrymen,  though  they  have 
added  but  few  facts  to  his  biography,  have  done  full  justice  to 
his  scientific  merits,  have  celebrated  his  wit,  his  acuteness, 
and  his  eloquence,  and  have  paid  a  willing  tribute  of  admira- 
tion to  the  unequalled  vigor,  terseness,  and  purity  of  his  style. 
The  best  of  these  later  accounts  is  by  Sainte-Beuve,  in  his 
elaborate  history  of  Port  Royal. 

Blaise  Pascal  was  born  in  the  summer  of  1623,  at  Cler- 
mont,  the  capital  of  the  Province  of  Auvergne,  in  France. 
His  father,  Etienne  Pascal,  who  had  himself  attained  consid- 
erable reputation  as  a  man  of  science  and  letters,  superin- 
tended the  education  of  his  only  son  with  rare  devotion  and 
judgment.  That  he  might  obtain  greater  facilities  for  instruc- 
tion, he  gave  up  the  office  which  he  had  held  at  Clermont, 
and  came  to  reside  in  Paris,  when  Blaise  was  but  eight  years 
old.  As  the  mother  had  died  five  years  before,  the  boy  was 
entirely  dependent  on  paternal  aid,  and  the  signs  which  he 
had  already  given  of  extraordinary  natural  endowments  were 
enough  to  determine  the  father  not  to  enter  him  at  any  col- 
lege, but  to  take  the  whole  task  of  his  education  on  himself. 
So  precious,  though  so  frail,  a  gift  of  Providence,  the  delicacy 


BLAISE   PASCAL.  383 

of  his  bodily  constitution  being  already  apparent,  was  not 
lightly  to  be  intrusted  to  the  hands  of  strangers.  The  inten- 
tion of  the  elder  Pascal  was,  that  his  son  should  study  only 
the  languages  during  his  tender  years,  with  a  view  to  cultivate 
the  memory  and  the  taste,  while  the  more  manly  and  exacting 
pursuits  of  mathematical  and  physical  science  were  to  be  the 
employment  of  his  early  manhood.  This  wise  scheme  was 
frustrated  by  circumstances  and  the  precocity  of  the  child's 
genius. 

The  elder  Pascal  belonged  to  a  small  association  of  scientific 
men,  among  whom  were  Mersenne,  Roberval,  Le  Pailleur, 
and  Carcavi,  who  came  together  occasionally,  in  an  informal 
way,  to  discuss  new  inventions  and  discoveries,  and  who  kept 
up  a  correspondence  with  persons  in  the  provinces  and  in  for- 
eign countries,  who  were  interested  in  the  same  pursuits. 
They  met  in  turn  at  the  houses  of  the  several  members,  and 
were  united  as  much  by  personal  regard  as  by  the  similarity 
of  their  tastes  and  occupations.  The  Academy  of  Sciences, 
which  was  established  in  1666,  was  formed  out  of  this  society. 
Young  Pascal  was  usually  present  at  the  meetings  when  they 
were  held  at  his  father's  house,  and  the  conversations  which 
he  heard  probably  stimulated  his  curiosity  the  more  from  the 
very  fact  that  he  was  not  allowed  to  study  the  subjects  of  the 
debate  in  books.  When  he  was  but  twelve  years  old,  his  sis- 
ter tells  us,  lie  wrote  a  short  treatise  upon  sounds.  He  was 
eager  to  know  the  nature  of  geometry,  of  which  he  had  often 
heard  the  associates  speak.  His  father  told  him  generally, 
that  it  related  to  the  measurement  of  bodies,  and  showed  how 
to  construct  figures  with  accuracy,  and  to  ascertain  their  rela- 

O  */ 

tions  to  each  other.  More  information  was  refused  ;  but  a 
promise  was  given,  that  he  should  study  the  subject  after  he 
had  learned  enough  Latin  and  Greek.  The  importunate  curi- 
osity of  the  boy  could  not  tolerate  this  delay.  During  his  leis- 
ure hours,  he  shut  himself  up  in  a  chamber,  and  with  a  piece 
of  charcoal  traced  figures  upon  the  floor,  such  as  parallelo- 
grams, triangles,  and  circles,  seeking  to  find  their  relative  di- 
mensions. He  knew  not  even  the  names  of  these  figures,  but 
called  a  circle  a  round,  and  a  line  a  bar.  Definitions  and 
axioms  he  framed  to  suit  himself,  and  in  this  way  proceeded 


384  BLAISE  PASCAL. 

by  degrees,  as  we  are  told,  till  lie  came  to  a  knowledge  of  the 
thirty-second  proposition  of  Euclid,  that  the  three  angles  of  a 
triangle  are  equal  to  two  right  angles.  While  thus  engaged, 
he  was  one  day  surprised  by  his  father,  who  was  naturally 
amazed  at  the  progress  made  under  such  circumstances,  and 
ran  immediately  to  communicate  the  fact  to  his  intimate 
friend,  Le  Pailleur.  After  this  discovery,  no  further  restraint 
was  put  upon  the  boy's  genius.  Euclid's  "  Elements  "  were 
given  to  him,  and  he  read  the  book  by  himself,  without  ask- 
ing any  aid,  before  he  was  thirteen  years  old. 

This  account  is  given  by  the  elder  sister,  who  was  in  the 
family  at  the  time,  and  must  have  known  the  facts  ;  and  as 
her  character  does  not  allow  her  veracity  to  be  questioned, 
there  seems  no  room  to  doubt  its  substantial  accuracy.  It  was 
published,  also,  when  some  of  the  associates  of  the  elder  Pas- 
cal were  still  alive,  who  could  have  refuted  any  misstatement. 
Yet  the  story  seems  so  marvellous,  that  many  have  considered 
it  a  mere  fable.  The  only  part  of  the  statement  that  is  really 
incredible,  however,  is  the  explanation  of  the  process,  or 
method,  by  which  the  boy  arrived  at  such  astonishing  results. 
The  order  in  which  geometry  is  taught  in  the  books  is  surely 
the  very  reverse  of  that  in  which  the  great  truths  of  this  sci- 
ence were  first  discovered.  Instead  of  beginning  with  axioms 
and  definitions,  and  advancing  through  the  more  simple  prop- 
ositions to  the  more  complex,  the  process  must  have  begun 
with  the  discovery,  either  by  accident  or  measurement,  of 
some  advanced  theorem,  and,  in  seeking  to  demonstrate  this, 
subsidiary  truths  came  to  light  as  the  media  of  proof.  Py- 
thagoras certainly  was  acquainted  with  the  famous  proposition 
about  the  square  of  the  hypothenuse,  before  he  was  able  to 
demonstrate  it.  Euclid  teaches  the  elements  synthetically; 
he  discovered  them  by  analysis.  Xow,  if  we  suppose  that 
Pascal,  in  the  scientific  meetings  at  his  father's  house,  had 
overheard  mention  of  the  fact  that  the  three  angles  of  a  tri- 
angle are  equal  to  two  right  angles,  and  endeavored  to  dis- 
cover the  proof  of  this  theorem,  the  story  ceases  to  be  incredi- 
ble, or  even  verv  remarkable.  If  we  consider  the  astonishing 

O 

acuteness  and  vigor  of  his  mind,  as  subsequently  displayed  in 
other  ways,  it  seems  quite  probable,  that  he  succeeded  in  in- 


BLAISE   PASCAL.  385 

scribing  a  triangle  in  a  circle,  and  in  ascertaining  that  an  an- 
gle at  the  centre  is  twice  as  great  as  one  at  the  circumference 
standing  upon  the  same  arc,  whence  the  passage  to  the  truth 
he  was  seeking  to  demonstrate  is  obvious.  He  may  have 
found  out  more  or  less  than  this  ;  the  account  on  which  we 
rely  being  quite  indefinite  as  to  the  particulars  of  his  achieve- 
ment. The  only  thing  really  marvellous  about  it  is,  that  a 
boy  twelve  years  of  age,  without  advice  or  instigation,  should 
have  troubled  himself  at  all  about  the  matter. 

But  the  progress  of  his  studies  was  now  interrupted  by  do- 
mestic misfortunes.  His  father  incurred  the  resentment  of 
Richelieu,  by  offering  some  opposition  to  an  arbitrary  plan  for 
cutting  short  the  income  attached  to  the  HOtel  de  Ville.  An 
order  was  made  out  for  committing  him  to  the  Bastille  ;  but 
obtaining  seasonable  notice  of  it,  he  fled  from  Paris,  and  con- 
cealed himself  in  his  native  province  of  Auvergne.  A  singu- 
lar circumstance  aided  the  talents  and  filial  piety  of  his  chil- 
dren, to  which  he  was  at  last  indebted  for  restoration  from 
this  exile.  The  Cardinal,  it  is  well  known,  had  a  passion  for 
dramatic  performances,  and  even  wrote  a  play  himself,  which 
was  quite  bad  enough  to  be  worthy  of  a  prime-minister.  He 
took  a  fancy  about  this  time,  that  a  tragi-comedy  by  Scude'ri, 
called  "  L'Amour  Tyrannique,"  should  be  represented  in  his 
presence  by  a  party  of  young  girls.  The  Duchess  d'Aiguillon, 
who  had  charge  of  the  affair,  selected  Jacqueline  Pascal,  then 
about  thirteen  years  old,  the  younger  sister  of  Blaise,  to  be 
one  of  the  performers.  The  representation  took  place  on  the 
3d  of  April,  1639.  Jacqueline  acted  her  part  like  a  little 
fairy,  and  her  grace  and  spirit  quite  captivated  the  spectators, 
and  excited  all  the  good  feelings  of  Richelieu.  It  had  been 
arranged,  that  the  little  actress  should  approach  the  minister 
at  the  close  of  the  piece,  and  recite  some  verses  pleading  for 
the  restoration  of  her  father.  She  did  so  with  a  degree  of  sim- 
plicity and  earnestness  that  delighted  the  Cardinal,  who  em- 
braced her  as  soon  as  she  had  finished,  and  exclaimed,  "  Yes, 
my  child,  I  grant  all  that  you  ask  for  ;  write  to  your  father, 
that  he  may  immediately  return  with  safety." 

The  elder  Pascal  returned  to  Paris,  and  was  received  with 
great  kindness  by  Richelieu,  who  soon  afterwards  appointed 


386  BLAISE   PASCAL. 

him  to  an  honorable  and  lucrative  office  in  the  government  of 
Rouen.  He  removed  his  family  to  that  city,  and  the  numer- 
ous accounts  and  calculations  that  were  necessary  in  his  official 
business  were  confided  to  his  son.  Weary  of  the  prolix  and 
monotonous  processes  of  arithmetic,  the  young  man  endeav- 
ored to  invent  some  mechanical  means  of  executing  the  work. 
After  two  years  of  intense  application,  he  produced  the  cele- 
brated arithmetical  machine  which  bears  his  name.  It  was  a 
marvellous  effort  for  a  boy  of  nineteen.  Leibnitz  speaks  of  it 
with  admiration,  and  made  some  attempts  to  improve  it ;  and 
in  our  own  day,  the  magnificent  project  of  Mr.  Babbage, 
which  seems  fated  never  to  be  anything  more  than  a  project, 
is  a  mere  revival  and  amplification  of  the  ingenious  contriv- 
ance of  the  young  Frenchman.  The  complexity  of  the  work 
prevents  us  from  giving  a  detailed  description  of  it.  It  is 
enough  to  say,  that  it  executes  all  the  lower  processes  of  arith- 
metic with  quickness  and  certainty,  and  performs  some  of  the 
more  complex  and  difficult  operations.  The  arithmetical  tri- 
angle, invented  by  Pascal  in  1(554,  is  a  natural  complement  to 
this  machine.  It  gives  the  coefficients  of  a  binomial  raised  to 
any  power  denoted  by  an  integer,  so  that  it  is  in  part  an  antic- 
ipation of  Newton's  beautiful  theorem.  It  was  applied,  also, 
to  the  theories  of  combinations  and  probabilities,  facilitating 
the  calculations  in  each,  and  indicating  certain  results  in  them 
not  before  known. 

Pascal  was  proud  of  these  inventions,  and  with  good  reason, 
considering  their  fertility  and  the  originality  of  the  ideas  on 
which  they  rest.  He  says,  that  the  operation  of  his  machine 
resembles,  far  more  than  the  instinct  of  animals,  the  workings 
of  the  human  intellect.  In  1650,  he  sent  one  of  the  instru- 
ments to  Queen  Christina  of  Sweden,  with  a  letter  which  is  a 
perfect  masterpiece  of  tact  and  delicacy  in  complimentary  ad- 
dress, and  shows  that  the  writer  was  not  more  a  man  of  sci- 
ence than  an  accomplished  French  gentleman.  But  the  cost 
of  the  machine,  and  its  liability  to  get  out  of  repair,  prevented 
it  from  coming  into  extensive  use  :  and  the  invention  of  log- 
arithms renders  all  contrivances  of  this  class  in  a  great  degree 
unnecessary.  In  speaking  of  the  mechanical  skill  of  Pascal, 
his  biographers  uniformly  attribute  to  him  the  invention  of 


BLAISE   PASCAL.  387 

the  wheel  sedan-chair  and  the  truck,  though  it  is  difficult  to 
believe  that  these  simple  instruments  were  not  in  use  long  be- 
fore his  time.  He  probably  made  some  marked  improvements 
in  the  common  mode  of  constructing  them. 

It  would  be  tedious  to  dwell  upon  the  history  of  Pascal's 
discoveries  in  mathematical  science.  They  were  conspicuous 
and  important  enough  to  attract  the  attention  and  envy  of 
Descartes,  who  seemed  to  arrogate  to  himself  at  this  period 
the  whole  province  of  pure  mathematics  as  his  particular  do- 
main. The  researches  upon  the  theory  of  the  cycloid,  inferior 
as  they  are  to  the  results  since  obtained  so  easily  by  the  use  of 
the  infinitesimal  calculus,  must  be  regarded  as  almost  miracu- 
lous achievements  of  the  geometry  of  Pascal's  time.  The  cal- 
culation of  chances,  various  problems  in  which  are  so  complex 
and  far-reaching  as  to  tax  the  utmost  resources  of  the  im- 
proved science  of  our  own  day,  owes  its  earliest  development, 
and  the  establishment  of  some  of  its  most  important  princi- 
ples, to  the  genius  of  this  youthful  mathematician.  Huygens, 
to  whom  the  praise  of  originating  the  true  theory  of  games  of 
chance  is  sometimes  awarded,  frankly  avows,  in  the  preface  to 
his  work  on  this  subject,  that  the  invention  does  not  belong  to 
him,  as  "  all  these  questions  have  already  been  discussed  by 
the  greatest  geometers  of  France."  In  truth,  the  work  of 
Huygens  appeared  in  1657,  while  the  solutions  of  Pascal  were 
well  known  in  1654,  when  he  was  but  thirty-one  years  of  age. 
The  subject  was  proposed  to  him  by  a  celebrated  gamester, 
who  wished  to  know  in  what  proportions  the  stake  should  be 
divided  between  two  players,  if  they  agreed  to  separate  with- 
out finishing  the  game.  Pascal  solved  the  problem  in  its  most 
general  form,  so  as  to  divide  the  sum  equitably  among  any 
number  of  players  who  might  be  engaged.  Roberval  and 
Fermat,  two  of  the  most  distinguished  mathematicians  in 
France,  attempted  to  answer  these  questions  at  the  same  time ; 
the  former  failed  entirely  ;  the  latter  succeeded  by  applying 
the  theory  of  combinations.  Pascal,  who  had  solved  the  prob- 
lem by  another  method,  believed  at  first  that  the  solution  by 
Fermat  was  not  correct,  although  the  result  agreed  with  his 
own  ;  but  on  further  examination  he  retracted  this  opinion, 
and  acknowledged  that  the  process  was  equally  accurate  and 
elegant. 


388  BLAISE  PASCAL. 

Passing  over  Pascal's  other  mathematical  labors,  though 
many  of  them  are  of  considerable  note,  we  come  to  his  con- 
tributions to  physical  science,  which  afford  still  more  remark- 
able proofs  of  the  premature  vigor  of  his  intellect.  His  cele- 
brated experiments  upon  the  weight  of  the  atmosphere  put 
the  seal  of  demonstration  upon  one  of  the  greatest  discoveries 
of  modern  times.  Torricelli  suspected  that  the  ascent  of 
water  in  a  common  pump,  which  had  hitherto  been  attributed 
to  nature's  repugnance  to  a  vacuum,  was  really  due  to  the 
weight  of  a  column  of  air,  which  balanced  the  column  of  fluid. 
Mercury  is  about  thirteen  times  heavier  than  water,  and 
thirty  inches  is  about  the  thirteenth  part  of  thirty-three  feet. 
In  other  words,  the  power  which  supported  the  two  fluids, 
whatever  it  might  be,  was  constant  in  respect  to  weight,  since 
the  elevation  of  the  two  fluids  was  inversely  proportional  to 
their  weight.  Torricelli  believed  that  this  power  was  the 
pressure  of  the  air,  or  that  a  column  of  air  as  high  as  the 
earth's  atmosphere  was  as  heavy  as  thirty  inches  of  mercury, 
or  as  thirty-three  feet  of  water.  But  he  could  not  prove  this  ; 
his  supposition,  it  is  true,  explained  the  facts ;  but  it  did  not 
exclude  other  hypotheses  which  might  be  framed  to  account 
for  the  same  phenomena. 

The  experiment  of  Torricelli,  which  was,  in  truth,  the  in- 
vention of  the  barometer,  was  made  in  1645.  Its  result  had 
been  predicted  by  Descartes  ;  but  the  explanation  offered  by 
both  these  philosophers  had  at  first  but  small  success  among 
the  learned.  The  doctrine  of  the  repugnance  of  nature  to  a 
vacuum  had  been  too  long  established  to  give  way  readily  to  a 
truth  which  was  not  as  yet  demonstrated.  The  supposition 
was  gravely  made,  that  some  suit  He  matter,  or  ether,  evapo- 
rated from  the  surface  of  the  water  or  the  mercury,  and  filled 
the  apparent  void  in  the  top  of  the  tube.  Pascal  at  once 
adopted  the  views  of  Torricelli  and  Descartes,  and  repeated 
the  experiments  of  the  former  in  1646,  with  some  variations, 
which  still  further  discredited  the  old  doctrine.  lie  used 
tubes  of  great  length,  and  thus  proved  that  nature  did  not 
dread  a  great  vacuum  any  more  than  a  small  one.  He  em- 
ployed a  tube  bent  in  the  form  of  the  letter  U,  and  having  in- 
vented an  apparatus  for  admitting  at  intervals  small  quantities 


BLAISE  PASCAL.  389 

of  air  into  the  top  of  one  of  the  branches,  he  found  that  the 
mercury  descended  there  just  as  fast  as  the  air  was  admitted, 
while  it  remained  stationary  in  the  other  branch.  The  results 
of  these  experiments,  and  the  arguments  founded  upon  them, 
he  published  in  1647,  in  a  little  book  entitled  "  New  Experi- 
ments respecting  a  Vacuum." 

But  Pascal  saw  with  pain,  that  not  one  of  the  tests  or  argu- 
ments hitherto  employed  was  absolutely  decisive  of  the  point 
at  issue.  After  long  and  painful  reflection  upon  the  subject, 
he  at  last  matured  the  idea  of  an  experiment,  which  would 
leave  no  room  for  cavil,  and  would  establish  the  true  doctrine 
irrevocably.  If  the  air  be  a  weighty  fluid,  each  horizontal 
stratum  of  it  must  be  pressed  by  the  accumulated  weight  of 
all  the  superincumbent  strata,  and  the  pressure  must  therefore 
diminish  as  we  rise  above  the  surface  of  the  earth.  Now,  if  it 
be  the  pressure  of  the  air  which  sustains  the  column  of  fluid, 
let  the  instrument  be  carried  to  a  considerable  height  in  the 
atmosphere,  and  the  mercury  must  full  to  a  lower  point  in  the 
tube.  In  order  that  the  difference  in  the  height  of  the  mer- 
cury might  be  very  perceptible,  and  leave  no  pretext  to  doubt 
its  reality,  it  was  necessary  to  raise  the  tube  very  high  in  the 
air.  The  mountain  called  the  Puy-de-Dome,  which  is  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Clermont,  and  is  about  three  thousand  feet 
high,  offered  a  suitable  means  for  accomplishing  this  object. 
On  the  loth  of  November,  1647,  Pascal  communicated  his 
project  to  his  brother-in-law,  M.  Perier,  who  was  about  to 
visit  Clermont,  and  charged  him  to  make  the  trial  as  soon  as 
he  arrived  there.  Ararious  circumstances  delayed  the  execu- 
tion of  the  plan  ;  but  it  was  tried  at  last,  with  all  possible  ex- 
actness, on  the  19th  of  September,  1648,  and  all  the  phenom- 
ena were  observed  which  Pascal  had  predicted.  The  mercury 
began  to  descend  in  the  tube  as  they  climbed  the  mountain's 
side,  and  on  the  summit  it  was  more  than  three  inches  lower 
than  it  had  been  at  the  base.  As  they  descended,  the  column 
rose  again,  till  they  reached  the  plain,  where  it  had  the  same 
elevation  as  at  first.  In  another  tube,  which  had  been  ob- 
served meanwhile  on  the  plain,  no  alteration  had  taken  place. 
Pascal  made  similar  experiments  at  Paris,  by  means  of  the 
very  lofty  tower  of  St.  Jacques-la-  Boucherie,  and  obtained  cor- 
responding results. 


390  BLAISE  PASCAL. 

Herschel,  quoted  with  approbation  by  Mr.  Hallam,  calls 
this  famous  experiment  "  a  crucial  instance,  one  of  the  first,  if 
not  the  very  first,  on  record  in  physics."  Indeed,  the  whole 
history  of  Pascal's  investigations  respecting  the  pressure  of 
the  atmosphere  is  such  a  striking  and  beautiful  illustration  of 
the  Baconian  system,  that  we  must  believe  he  had  studied  the 
"  Novum  Organum,"  an  edition  of  which  was  printed  in  Hol- 
land in  1645,  just  a  year  before  Pascal  began  his  work.  His 
final  success  appears  the  more  remarkable,  when  we  consider 
that  he  was  not  yet  twenty-five  years  old. 

The  experiments  upon  the  pressure  of  the  atmosphere  nat- 
urally led  Pascal  to  some  more  general  inquiries  respecting  the 
equilibrium  of  fluids.  He  wrote  two  treatises  upon  this  sub- 
ject and  upon  the  weight  of  the  air,  which  were  finished  in 
1653,  though  they  were  not  published  till  after  his  death. 
They  contain  the  record  of  some  ingenious  experiments,  and 
many  general  views,  which  were  considerably  in  advance  of 
the  science  of  his  time.  He  remarks,  that  the  air  is  a  com- 
pressible and  elastic  fluid,  and  cites,  as  a  proof  of  this,  a  trial 
which  he  had  caused  to  be  made  on  the  Puy-de-Dume,  where 
a  balloon  partly  filled  with  air  at  the  base,  on  being  carried  to 
the  summit,  was  entirely  distended;  it  shrunk  again  as  the 
party  descended  the  mountains,  and  regained  its  former  vol- 
ume at  the  foot.  He  made  some  observations,  also,  on  the 
changes  to  which  the  column  of  mercury  is  exposed,  while 
kept  at  the  same  place,  proceeding  from  the  variations  of  the 
weather.  He  did  not,  indeed,  divine  all  the  barometrical  uses 
of  this  instrument,  though  he  seems  to  have  accomplished 
more  in  this  way  than  any  one  of  his  contemporaries. 

If  we  except  the  mathematical  inquiry  respecting  the  cy- 
cloid, which  was  taken  up  rather  as  a  diversion  during  his  last 
illness,  it  may  be  said,  that  Pascal's  scientific  labors  termi- 
nated when  he  had  attained  the  age  of  thirty.  It  is  not  sur- 
prising, then,  that  their  results  should  hardly  appear  so  nu- 
merous and  brilliant  as  those  obtained  by  one  or  two  of  his 
illustrious  contemporaries,  in  an  age  which  was  the  most  re- 
markable, perhaps,  for  the  progress  of  science  and  the  devel- 
opment of  the  human  mind,  of  any  in  the  history  of  the  world. 
But  as  indications  of  what  he  miht  have  done  in  a  loner  e* 


BLAISE  PASCAL.  391 

riod,  or  under  more  favorable  circumstances,  —  as  evidence  of 
the  vast  power  and  fertility  of  his  youthful  intellect,  they  will 
never  cease  to  command  the  wonder  and  admiration  of  man- 
kind. 

The  father  of  Pascal  died  in  1651 ;  and  two  years  after- 
wards, his  sister  Jacqueline,  to  whom  lie  was  tenderly  at- 
tached, retired  forever  from  the  world,  by  uniting  herself  to 
the  company  of  pious  recluses  at  Port  Royal.  Anxious  to 
show  the  fervor  of  her  religious  faith,  and  her  grateful  feelings 
towards  the  brother  who  had  first  directed  her  own  steps  to 
the  path  of  peace,  she  sought  to  win  him  also  from  the  world, 
by  causing  him  to  renounce  his  former  studies,  and  to  seek 
only  for  the  things  of  heaven.  Various  circumstances  aided 
the  execution  of  this  pious  scheme.  An  attack  of  paralysis, 
several  years  before,  had  nearly  deprived  him  of  the  use  of  his 
legs,  and  diseases  of  the  nervous  system  and  the  stomach  had 
now  brought  him  to  the  verge  of  the  grave.  There  was  no 
course  left  for  him  but  to  abandon  his  engrossing  labors,  at 
least  for  a  season,  to  turn  his  thoughts  to  other  subjects,  and 
patiently  to  await  either  the  partial  restoration  of  his  health, 
or  a  final  release  from  earthly  suffering.  During  the  tedious 
hours  of  illness,  his  mind  reverted  to  the  religious  counsels  he 
had  received  in  his  youth.  His  father  had  carefully  sown  in 
his  mind  the  seeds  of  piety  and  Christian  faith.  These  had 
remained  quiet,  though  not  wholly  inoperative,  during  his 
early  manhood,  while  the  whole  force  of  his  intellect  was 
directed  to  scientific  pursuits.  But  they  sprang  up  with  a 
most  luxuriant  growth,  when  these  pursuits  were  forcibly  in- 
terrupted for  a  time  by  physical  suffering.  The  objects  for 
which  he  had  hitherto  labored  so  strenuously  now  lost  all 
value  in  his  eyes.  The  memory  of  youthful  triumphs  was  no 
longer  pleasant ;  the  reputation  he  had  already  gained,  the 
hopes  of  still  greater  distinction  which  he  had  once  cherished, 
were  now  ranked  among  the  vain  joys  and  aspirations  of  a 
world  which  seemed  to  be  fading  from  his  sight,  as  another 
one  of  more  glorious  promise  opened  to  his  view  from  bej'ond 
the  grave.  He  resolved  to  mortify  his  ambition  and  love  of 
science,  to  quench  even  the  natural  spark  of  family  affection, 
to  deny  himself  the  ordinary  comforts  of  life,  and  to  devote 


392  BLAISE   PASCAL. 

his  whole  soul  to  the  contemplation  of  God  and  a  future  life. 
He  became  a  recluse,  an  ascetic,  an  enthusiast ;  we  will  not 
say,  a  fanatic,  for  his  cruelties  were  lavished  only  on  himself. 
The  end  was  not  yet ;  a  few  more  years  remained  to  him,  dur- 
ing which  his  achievements  in  defence  of  persecuted  innocence 
and  religious  truth  were  destined  to  surpass  in  splendor  his 
early  contributions  to  the  cause  of  human  learning. 

During  the  extremity  of  bodily  pain,  this  change  of  pur- 
pose wrought  so  powerfully  on  his  mind,  that  at  one  time  he 
was  probably  on  the  brink  of  insanity.  As  he  slowly  and 
imperfectly  recovered,  the  intensity  of  feeling  subsided  in 
some  degree,  but  was  revived  and  made  permanent  by  the 
consequences  of  an  accident.  As  he  was  crossing  the  Pont 
de  Neuilly  in  a  carriage,  the  horses  became  restive  and  un- 
manageable, and  at  a  point  where  there  was  no  railing  to  the 
bridge,  they  leaped  into  the  river.  Fortunately,  the  traces 
broke,  and  the  carriage  stopped  on  the  brink  ;  but  the  frail 
system  of  Pascal  received  a  shock  so  violent  that  lie  fainted, 
and  was  with  great  difficulty  restored  to  consciousness.  The 
alarm  and  the  jar  of  the  head  which  were  thus  caused  had  a 
sensible  effect  on  his  excited  imagination,  and  he  became  sub- 
ject to  a  kind  of  false  sensation  not  uncommon  in  certain 
forms  of  mental  disease.  He  saw  a  frightful  precipice  yawn- 
ing continually  at  his  side  ;  and  though  his  reason  convinced 
him  that  it  was  unreal,  he  could  not  resist  the  terror  wrhich 
it  occasioned.  We  find  indistinct  notices  of  a  sort  of  vision 
or  ecstasy,  which  he  had  soon  afterwards,  and  which  was  at- 
tributed to  the  same  cause.  As  a  memorial  of  this  vision,  he 
preserved  for  a  long  time  a  paper  on  which  were  written  the 
day  and  the  hour  when  it  occurred,  and  some  detached  pious 
meditations ;  and  this  paper  he  constantly  carried  about  with 
him,  as  if  it  were  an  amulet,  concealed  within  the  lining  of 
his  dress.  It  is  difficult  to  say,  whether  this  was  an  effect  of 
partial  insanity,  or  of  some  superstitious  idea  which  he  had 
connected  with  the  vision.  At  any  rate,  he  considered  the 
accident  on  the  bridge  as  a  warning  given  to  him  by  Heaven 
to  break  off  all  human  engagements,  and  to  live  in  future  for 
God  alone.  It  is  painful  to  read  the  minute  account  given  by 
his  sister  of  the  privations  and  sufferings  imposed  upon  him- 


BLAISE   PASCAL.  393 

self  by  this  unhappy  enthusiast,  during  the  remainder  of  his 
life.  Great  as  these  austerities  were,  they  never  altered  the 
SAveetness  of  his  disposition,  nor  impaired  the  astonishing 
vigor  and  acuteness  of  his  intellect,  whenever  he  had  occasion 
to  use  his  pen  in  the  cause  of  truth. 

Pascal  now  became  an  intimate  friend  of  the  most  distin- 
guished Port  Royalists,  and  though  he  never  formally  united 
himself  to  their  society,  he  was  accustomed  to  make  them  long 
visits,  and  was  led  to  espouse  their  doctrines,  and  to  take  an 
active  share  in  the  controversies  in  which  they  were  then  en- 
gaged. Among  the  more  eminent  of  their  number,  to  whom 
he  became  particularly  attached,  —  similarity  in  taste,  opin- 
ion, and  ardor  of  devotional  feeling  being  the  bond  of  union 
between  them,  —  were  Arnauld,  Nicole,  De  Saci,  and  Lan- 
celot. Of  the  remarkable  association,  of  which  these  men  were 
the  brightest  ornaments,  and  which  was  at  once  the  glory  and 
the  shame  of  France  during  the  seventeenth  century,  our  lim- 
its will  not  permit  us  to  speak  at  length  ;  but  some  notice  of 
it  is  necessary,  in  order  to  make  intelligible  the  history  of  the 
bitter  controversy  it  waged  with  the  Jesuits,  when  the  genius 
of  Pascal  came  to  its  rescue  at  the  hour  of  its  greatest  need, 
and  delayed  for  many  years  its  destruction  by  the  hands  of  its 
powerful  and  bitter  antagonists. 

The  effects  of  the  Reformation  were  hardly  more  conspicu- 
ous upon  the  feelings  and  conduct  of  those  who  separated  from 
the  church  of  Rome,  than  of  those  who  remained  within  its 
pale.  Fiercely  assaulted  from  all  quarters,  the  ancient  Mother 
found  greater  resources  in  her  own  bosom  than  she  had  ever 
counted  upon  in  her  hour  of  prosperity.  Opposition  devel- 
oped her  strength  ;  shame  and  rivalry  purified  her  morals 
and  reduced  the  number  of  her  corruptions ;  and  the  piety  of 
many  of  her  faithful  children  kindled  into  a  brighter  and 
purer  flame,  as  they  looked  round  for  means  of  defence  against 
the  enthusiastic  and  unrelenting  Reformers.  The  fanaticism 
of  a  Spanish  soldier,  turned  monk,  created  the  order  of  the 
Jesuits,  the  most  effective  militia  ever  organized  for  the  pur- 
poses of  ecclesiastical  warfare.  Fervor  of  devotional  feeling, 
kindled  by  the  exciting  religious  controversies  which  then  agi- 
tated Europe,  gave  birth,  among  other  sects,  to  that  of  the 


394  BLAISE  PASCAL. 

Port  Royalists,  or  Jansenists,  of  France,  composed  of  persons 
who  still  adhered  with  unflinching  fidelity  to  the  see  of  Rome, 
though  in  practice,  and  in  many  points  of  doctrine,  they  were 
more  nearly  allied  to  some  parties  among  the  Reformers. 
Two  associations,  animated  by  principles  differing  so  widely 
from  each  other  as  those  of  the  Jesuits  and  the  Jansenists, 
could  not  long  coexist  in  harmony  within  the  same  pale.  Dis- 
putes on  points  of  faith  were  carried  on  with  bitter  recrimina- 
tions ;  and  the  contest  proceeded  so  far,  that  the  entire  destruc- 
tion of  one  or  the  other  party  at  last  became  inevitable.  Rome 
temporized  as  usual,  but  was  obliged  to  act  at  last ;  and  the 
suppression  of  the  monastery  of  Port  Royal,  and  the  persecu- 
tion of  the  Jansenists,  showed  how  highly  she  valued  the  un- 
scrupulous services  of  the  followers  of  Loyola. 

The  controversy,  so  far  as  it  was  exclusively  doctrinal, 
turned  on  the  dark  problems  of  predestination,  free  will,  and 
saving  grace,  which  have  been  almost  constantly  agitated  in 
the  Church  during  its  whole  history,  and  are  still  as  far  from 
a  satisfactory  solution  as  ever.  The  pious  enthusiasm  of  the 
Jansenists,  leading  them  to  confess  their  utter  unworthiness  in 
the  sight  of  God,  and  their  total  incapacity  to  execute  the  di- 
vine commands,  caused  them  to  accept  in  all  its  severity  the 
gloomy  doctrine  of  St.  Augustine.  They  held,  that  the  grace 
of  God  is  free  and  irresistible  ;  it- is  conferred  upon  the  elect, 
not  in  consideration  of  their  own  merits,  but  by  arbitrary  ap- 
pointment ;  they  cannot  obtain  it  by  their  own  acts,  nor  resist 
its  effects  whenever  it  is  vouchsafed  to  them.  Man  is  born 
with  so  strong  an  inclination  to  sin,  that,  without  extraordi- 
nary aid  from  the  Deity,  he  cannot  perform  a  pious  act.  The 
human  will  is  absolutely  passive  ;  so  that  a  good  action,  even 
after  conversion,  cannot  be  ascribed  in  any  proper  sense  to  the 
human  agent,  but  is  due  to  the  operation  of  the  Spirit.  It  is 
God  that  worketh  in  us,  both  to  will  and  to  do  ;  and  there 
has  been  no  free  will  for  the  creature  since  Adam's  time,  ex- 
cept to  do  evil.  It  is  not  denied,  that  all  men  may  be  con- 
verted, if  tln'ij  wish  for  conversion ;  but  they  never  can  wish 
for  it,  unless  the  grace  of  God  is  imparted  to  them  for  that 
end. 

Appalling  as  this  doctrine  seems,  when  nakedly  stated,  it 


BLAISE   PASCAL.  395 

had  belonged  to  the  faith  of  the  Christian  world  at  least  since 
the  time  of  Augustine.  The  church  of  Rome  had  held  it 
through  respect  for  the  authority  of  that  father  ;  and  the  early 
Reformers,  Luther  and  Calvin  especially,  state  it  without  re- 
serve, and  engage  in  its  defence  with  the  utmost  warmth. 
The  former  declares,  that  good  and  evil  are  attributable  to 
God  alone  ;  man  commits  sin  from  the  necessary  inclination  of 
his  will,  which  is  enslaved  to  wickedness,  being  predetermined 
to  it  by  divine  power  ;  and  when  he  inclines  to  good,  he  only 
follows  the  irresistible  impulse  of  grace,  which  pushes  him  on- 
ward like  an  inanimate  body,  his  own  agency  having  no  share 
whatever  in  the  movement.  This  is  the  doctrine,  certainly, 
of  men  who  have  made  entire  submission  of  their  reason  to 
their  faith  ;  and  as  such,  it  was  accepted  and  defended  by  the 
Jansenists  and  their  eloquent  champion,  Pascal.  It  is  a  part 
of  that  sacrifice  which  the  penitent  convert  makes  to  the  cause 
of  religious  truth,  to  humble  the  pride  of  his  own  intellect, 
and,  in  all  the  enthusiasm  of  self-abasement,  to  accept  propo- 
sitions as  dark  as  these  without  question  or  reserve. 

The  Jesuits  wished  to  impose  no  such  terrible  burden  on 
their  converts.  Their  object  was  to  retain  waverers  in  the 
Church,  and  to  allure  heretics  again  into  its  bosom,  by  impos- 
ing upon  them  no  austerities  of  conduct,  and  no  stumbling- 
blocks  of  doctrine.  Lax  and  unscrupulous  in  the  use  of  means, 
they  preached  a  convenient  system  of  morals,  and  an  easy 
creed,  to  their  converts.  They  aimed  rather  to  justify  sin 
than  to  commend  holiness ;  for  they  looked  only  to  the  exter- 
nal interests  of  the  Church,  which  was  already  sure  of  the 
saints,  and  now  stood  in  need,  as  they  thought,  of  the  services 
of  the  sinners.  More  subtile  and  ingenious  than  profound, 
they  contrived  intermediate  systems,  wherewith  to  reconcile 
their  own  loose  doctrines  with  the  oft  repeated  declarations 
of  the  Church  and  the  teachings  of  the  Fathers. 

The  treatise  of  the  Spanish  Jesuit,  Molina,  published  in 
1588,  on  the  agreement  between  divine  grace  and  human  free- 
will, may  be  considered  as  the  most  general  exposition  of  their 
belief  on  this  thorny  subject.  According  to  this  theory,  the 
Deity  foreknows  not  only  every  event  which  will  actually  take 
place,  but  also  what  would  have  happened  under  certain  con- 


396  BLAISE   PASCAL. 

ditions,  that  in  fact  are  never  fulfilled.  The  necessary  aid  of 
the  Spirit  is  imparted  to  those  only  who  would  have  made 
good  use  of  the  freedom  of  the  will,  if  they  had  possessed  it. 
Consequently,  men  act  from  necessity  ;  but  also  act  precisely 
as  they  would  have  done,  had  they  been  free.  Divine  grace 
is  freely  imparted  to  those  who  do  not,  indeed,  merit  it,  but 
whose  characters  show  a  certain  congruousness  or  fitness  for 
its  reception.  This  is  the  celebrated  system  of  the  "  interme- 
diate science,"  or  the  foresight  of  "  contingent  futures,"  as 
well  as  of  actual  events  ;  and  of  "  congruousness,"  instead  of 
merit,  or  arbitrary  appointment,  which  is  made  the  law  of  dis- 
tribution of  the  divine  assistance.  It  is  evidently  an  ingenious 
attempt  to  inculcate  the  doctrine  of  Pelagius,  without  ex- 
pressly contradicting  the  words  of  Augustine.  The  doctrine 
of  predestination  is  retained ;  but  all  events,  so  far  as  man  is 
concerned,  take  place  exactly  as  if  they  were  altogether  con- 
tingent, or  dependent  only  on  the  free  action  of  the  human 
will.  The  just  are  irresistibly  inclined  to  holiness  by  the  ac- 
tion of  divine  grace  ;  but  if  a  different  appointment  of  Provi- 
dence had  left  them  entirely  at  liberty,  they  would  have  fol- 
lowed precisely  the  same  course. 

In  1639,  Jansenius,  Bishop  of  Ypres,  died  just  as  he  had 
completed  his  work  called  the  "  Augustinus,"  which  had  been 
the  labor  of  his  life,  and  which  contained  a  kind  of  summary 
of  the  doctrines  of  Augustine  respecting  predestination  and 
divine  grace.  It  was  published  the  year  after  his  death  ;  and, 
as  it  was  a  heavy  and  ill-written  book,  it  would  probably  have 
attracted  little  notice,  if  accident  had  not  rendered  it  the  touch- 
stone of  dispute  in  the  memorable  controversy  between  the 
Port  Royalists  and  the  Jesuits.  St.  Cyran,  the  leader  of 
the  former  party,  had  been  the  intimate  friend  of  Jansenius, 
and  now  strongly  recommended  his  work,  as  containing  the 
whole  secret  of  the  doctrine  of  predestination.  His  associates, 
the  pious  and  learned  recluses  of  Port  Royal  des  Champs,  fol- 
lowed in  his  track,  and  defended  the  opinions  of  the  Bishop  of 
Ypres  with  so  much  ardor,  that  they  were  soon  distinguished 
by  the  name  of  Jansenists.  The  Jesuits  were  enraged  to  find 
their  own  system  of  theology  falling  out  of  repute,  while  a 
dark  shade  was  cast  upon  the  character  of  their  order  by  the 


BLAISE   PASCAL.  397 

superior  reputation  of  their  antagonists  for  sanctity  of  life  and 
purity  of  doctrine.  Not  daring  to  controvert  openly  the  opin- 
ions of  Augustine,  they  vehemently  assailed  the  work  of  Jan- 
senius,  as  containing  dangerous  and  heretical  doctrine.  Their 
outcries  and  artifices  would  probably  have  had  little  effect,  if 
the  Jansenists  had  not  unluckily  incurred  the  hatred  both  of 
Richelieu  and  Mazarin  ;  the  former  imprisoned  St.  Cyran  at 
Vincennes,  and  the  latter  openly  countenanced  the  machina- 
tions of  the  Jesuits.  Emboldened  by  such  aid,  the  Jesuits 
fulminated  the  most  atrocious  calumnies  against  the  members 
of  the  hated  sect,  and  left  no  stone  unturned  to  effect  their 
utter  ruin.  But  their  success  depended  upon  maintaining  the 
charge  of  heresy  ;  for  they  had  to  do  with  men  whose  abilities 
and  reputation  were  far  greater  than  their  own,  and  who  ac- 
quired more  public  esteem  from  the  very  persecution  under 
which  they  were  suffering.  Such  adversaries  as  Arnauld, 
Nicole,  Saci,  and  Pascal  were  more  to  be  dreaded  than  sim- 
ple theologians.  They  were  men  of  philosophical  minds  and 
high  literary  merit.  They  had  acquired  zealous  and  power- 
ful friends  throughout  the  kingdom,  and  even  at  the  court,  by 
their  talents,  their  virtues,  and  the  signal  services  which  they 
had  rendered  to  literature  and  science.  But  in  that  age  and 
country,  the  single  charge  of  heresy  was  enough  to  effect  their 
destruction. 

In  1049,  Father  Cornet,  Syndic  of  the  Faculty  of  the  Sor- 
bonne,  drew  up  five  propositions  on  the  mysteries  of  divine 
grace,  which  he  denounced,  as  opinions  drawn  from  the  icork 
of  Jansenius  by  Arnauld  and  his  followers.  After  a  long  con- 
test at  Home,  Innocent  the  Tenth  finally  decided  that  the 
propositions  were  heretical ;  and  that  one  of  them  especially, 
which  declared  that  Jesus  Christ  had  not  died  for  all  men,  was 
false,  rash,  and  scandalous;  and  if  understood  to  mean,  that 
the  Saviour  had  died  for  the  elect  alone,  it  was  impious  and 
blasphemous.  But  he  said  nothing  about  the  question,  whether 
these  doctrines  were  actually  contained  in  the  "  Augustinus.'' 
The  Jansenists  affirmed,  that  they  could  not  be  found  there, 
and  though  they  bowed  with  perfect  submission  to  the  author- 
ity of  the  Holy  See,  and  admitted  the  five  propositions  to  be 
heretical  in  the  sense  which  was  attached  to  them,  they  re- 


398  BLAISE   PASCAL. 

fused  to  condemn  the  dogma  of  efficacious  grace  which  is  es- 
sential for  an  act  of  piety,  or  to  reject  the  authority  of  St.  Au- 
gustine, which  had  always  been  revered  in  the  Church.  They 
took  a  distinction  between  the  pope's  right  to  judge  of  points 
of  doctrine,  and  his  authority  to  settle  questions  of  fact;  the 
former  they  admitted  to  the  fullest  extent,  while  they  boldly 
denied  the  latter.  Questions  of  this  class,  they  said,  can  be 
determined  only  by  the  senses.  Pascal  always  speaks  with  en- 
tire reverence  of  the  authority  of  the  Church,  as  represented 
by  the  supreme  pontiff,  in  matters  of  faith ;  but  respecting 
matters  of  fact,  he  holds  the  following  bold  language  :  — 

"  It  was  in  vaiu,"  he  says,  addressing  the  Jesuits,  "  that  you  ob- 
tained a  decree  from  Rome  against  Galileo,  which  condemned  his 
opinion  respecting  the  movement  of  the  earth.  That  will  never 
prove  that  it  stands  still ;  and  if  there  is  a  series  of  constant  observa- 
tions to  show  that  it  turns  on  its  axis,  all  the  men  in  the  world  will 
never  prevent  it  from  turning,  nor  prevent  themselves  from  turning 
along  with  it.  Do  not  imagine,  either,  that  the  letters  of  Pope  Zach- 
arias,  excommunicating  St.  Virgilius,  because  he  maintained  the  ex- 
istence of  the  antipodes,  have  annihilated  this  new  world  ;  and  al- 
though he  declared  this  opinion  was  a  dangerous  error,  the  King  of 
Spain  did  well  in  believing  Christopher  Columbus,  who  had  returned 
from  this  new  world,  rather  than  the  opinion  of  the  Pope,  who  had 
never  been  there  ;  and  the  Church  gained  a  great  advantage  thereby, 
as  a  knowledge  of  the  gospel  was  thus  imparted  to  many  nations,  who 
would  otherwise  have  perished  in  their  sins." 

All  the  theologians  in  France  were  now  in  arms  upon  the 
apparently  simple  question,  whether  the  five  propositions,  ad- 
mitted on  all  hands  to  be  heretical,  were  really  contained  in 
the  work  of  Jansenius,  or  not.  Arnauld  and  his  followers 
confidently  asked  to  have  them  pointed  out ;  the  Jesuits  ac- 
cumulated all  sorts  of  authorities,  except  the  book  itself,  to 
prove  that  they  were  contained  in  it.  The  truth  was,  every- 
body knew  that  the  substance,  but  not  the  identical  words,  of 
the  five  propositions  were  to  be  found  in  the  book  ;  but  the 
Jesuits  durst  not  cite  the  passages  confirmatory  of  this  view, 
for  then  their  opponents  would  have  obtained  an  easy  tri- 
umph, by  showing  that  Jansenius  had  used  Augustine's  own 
words,  and  Home  was  by  no  means  prepared  to  repudiate  the 


BLAISE   PASCAL.  399 

high  authority  of  that  Father,  u  the  doctor  of  grace."  The 
Jesuits  charged  their  antagonists  with  upholding  Calvinism, 
and  were  themselves  accused,  in  turn,  of  favoring  Pelagianism. 
It  was  a  pitiable  thing,  as  D'Alernbert  says,  to  see  the  time 
and  talents  of  the  ablest  men  in  the  kingdom  wasted  on  fan- 
tastic and  interminable  discussions  about  free  will  and  divine 
grace,  and  on  the  important  question,  whether  five  unintelli- 
gible propositions  were  contained  in  a  stupid  book  which  no- 
body ever  thought  of  reading.  Persecuted,  imprisoned,  exiled 
on  account  of  these  vain  disputes,  and  continually  occupied  in 
defending  such  a  futile  cause,  how  many  years  in  their  lives 
have  philosophy  and  letters  to  mourn  over  as  utterly  wasted  ! 
A  mono:  those  who  combated  for  Jansenius,  no  one  so  much 

O  * 

distinguished  himself  for  zeal  and  vehemence  as  Arnauld.  In- 
flexible, ardent,  and  indefatigable,  he  had  all  the  qualities 
requisite  for  being  the  successful  leader  of  a  sect.  In  1055,  a 
priest  of  St.  Sulpice  refused  absolution  to  the  Duke  de  Lian- 
court,  because  he  was  a  friend  of  the  Port  Royalists,  and  had 
allowed  his  grandchild  to  be  a  pupil  in  their  seminary.  Ar- 
nauld took  fire  at  this  insult,  and  published  two  very  severe 
letters,  commenting  on  the  bigotry  and  injustice  evinced  by 
this  act.  Among  other  offensive  things,  he  said  he  had  read 
the  work  of  Jansenius,  and  could  not  iind  the  heretical  propo- 
sitions in  it ;  and  that  the  gospel  "  offers  us,  in  the  case  of  St. 
Peter,  the  example -of  a  just  man,  to  whom  the  divine  grace, 
without  which  nothing  can  be  effected,  was  wanting,  on  an 
occasion  when  no  one  can  say  that  he  did  not  sin."  For  pub- 
lishing these  assertions,  he  was  immediately  arraigned  before 
the  Sorbonne  as  a  contumacious  heretic.  The  discussion  ex- 
cited great  interest,  for  it  was  regarded  as  a  decisive  trial  of 
strength  between  the  two  parties.  The  hall  of  the  Sorbonne 
was  crowded,  as  the  Jesuits  and  their  opponents  mustered  all 
their  forces  for  the  encounter ;  and  the  former,  especially, 
brought  in  so  many  mendicant  monks,  as  to  give  occasion  for 
a  sarcastic  remark  by  Pascal,  that  it  was  more  easy  for  them 
to  find  monks  than  arguments.  The  condemnation  of  Arnauld 
was  inevitable  ;  for  the  Jesuits  had  strengthened  themselves 
by  an  alliance  with  the  Dominicans  and  other  orders,  wrecks 
of  the  Middle  Ages,  whom  a  secret  instinct  brought  together 


400  BLAISE    PASCAL. 

as  opponents  of  the  new  order  of  things.  The  minority  was 
composed  in  great  part  of  the  secular  clergy.  Sentence  was 
passed  in  January,  1656,  when  the  two  assertions  cited  above 
were  not  only  condemned  as  heretical,  but  Arnauld  himself 
was  forever  excluded  from  his  seat  in  the  faculty  of  theology. 

The  triumph  of  the  Jesuits  seemed  complete  ;  but  their  joy 
was  at  once  checked  and  turned  into  dismay  by  the  sudden 
appearance  in  the  opposite  ranks  of  a  new  champion,  far  more 
formidable  than  any  whom  they  had  hitherto  encountered. 
Just  before  sentence  was  passed,  appeared  the  first  of  Pascal's 
'•  Provincial  Letters,"  as  they  are  usually  called,  though  the 
more  proper  title  is,  "  Letters  written  by  Louis  de  Montalte 
to  one  of  his  Friends  in  the  Country."  The  others,  eighteen 
in  number,  were  published  successively,  at  intervals  of  several 
weeks'  duration,  for  more  than  a  year  and  a  half.  Never  was 
more  seasonable  and  effectual  aid  brought  to  the  rescue  of  a 
sinking  cause.  These  masterpieces  of  style  and  argument,  of 
wit  and  eloquence,  did  more  to  ruin  the  name  and  the  cause 
of  the  Jesuits,  than  all  the  discussions  that  had  been  urged 
in  the  schools  of  theology,  and  all  the  enemies  they  had  pro- 
voked among  the  reigning  powers  of  Europe.  Eminently  pop- 
ular and  intelligible  in  style,  abounding  with  the  happiest 
flashes  of  pleasantry  and  fancy,  passing  with  ease  and  grace 
from  the  keenest  ridicule  to  the  loftiest  invective,  they  were 
read  and  almost  committed  to  memory  by  all  classes  of  men, 
while  the  heavy  and  abusive  answers  to  them  passed  unno- 
ticed, and  were  soon  forgotten.  They  provoked  the  unwilling 
praise  even  of  Voltaire,  who  said  that  the  earlier  letters  had 
more  wit  than  the  best  comedies  of  Moliere,  and  the  later  ones 
more  sublimity  than  the  finest  compositions  of  Bossuet.  The 
same  excellent  judge  attributes  to  them  the  fixation  of  the 
French  language,  and  says,  that  after  the  lapse  of  more  than 
a  century,  not  a  word  or  phrase  employed  in  them  had  become 
obsolete..  The  clearness  and  precision  with  which  the  points 
at  issue  are  explained,  and  the  tone  of  severe  morality  and  fer- 
vent piety  which  pervades  these  admirable  Letters,  made  them 
as  persuasive  and  convincing  as  they  were  delightful.  The 
Jesuits  found  themselves  exposed  to  the  ridicule  and  indigna- 
tion of  all  Europe,  in  a  publication  destined  to  be  as  lasting 


BLAISE  PASCAL.  401 

and  as  widely  diffused  as  the  language  in  which  it  was  writ- 
ten. They  had  no  writers  among  their  number  capable  of 
averting  or  returning  this  terrible  blow  ;  for  it  was  aptly  said 
of  them,  that  at  all  times  "  their  penknives  were  more  to  be 
dreaded  than  their  pens."  The  Jesuit  Annat  remarked,  that 
for  an  answer  to  the  first  fifteen  Letters,  he  had  only  to  repeat 
fifteen  times  over,  that  the  writer  of  them  was  a  Jansenist. 

In  the  first  three  Letters,  Pascal  examines  the  points  of  dis- 
pute, which  were  involved  in  the  trial  of  Arnauld.  He  ex- 
poses with  great  wit  and  severity  the  fraudulent  alliance  be- 
tween the  Jesuits  and  the  Dominicans  against  the  Jansenists, 
in  which  the  two  contracting  parties  covered  up  their  funda- 
mental differences  of  opinion  by  an  abuse  of  language,  using 
phrases  which  either  had  no  meaning  at  all,  or  involved  the 
grossest  contradictions.  The  Dominicans  had  always  main- 
tained the  doctrine  of  "  efficacious  grace  "  necessary  for  any 
good  action,  and  that  human  liberty  does  not  consist  in  indif- 
ference, but  is  compatible  with  a  certain  kind  of  necessity 
which  springs  from  the  irresistible  power  of  divine  grace.  The 
Jesuits,  who  were  followers  of  Molina,  denied  both  these  dog- 
mas, and  affirmed  the  existence  of  "sufficient  grace,"  and  "im- 
mediate power  "  to  do  good  or  to  abstain  from  it,  without  any 
extraneous  aid.  Their  allies  employed  the  same  phrases,  but 
attached  a  different  meaning  to  them,  understanding  thereby, 
that  the  powers  spoken  of  were  of  no  effect  without  the  addi- 
tional aid  of  the  Spirit.  They  covenanted  to  use  these  techni- 
calities without  any  reference  to  the  sense  which  the  Molinists 
attached  to  them,  on  condition  that  the  Jesuits  would  not 
oblige  them  to  explain  their  whole  meaning,  and  would  con- 
tinue to  declare  that  the  doctrine  of  the  Thomists  was  ortho- 
dox. Here  was  fine  scope  for  the  sarcastic  commentary  of 
Pascal  on  the  dogma  of  "sufficient  grace,"  which  did  not  suf- 
fice for  the  performance  of  any  pious  act,  and  of  "  immediate 
power,"  which  was  of  no  avail  except  by  the  special  assistance 
of  the  Deity.  The  irony  with  which  he  exposes  these  gross 
tergiversations  is  keen  but  tempered,  and  flashes  out  into  elo- 
quent indignation  only  at  the  close,  when  he  conies  to  speak  of 
the  great  purpose  of  this  unholy  compact,  which  was  to  effect 
the  condemnation  of  the  Jansenists. 

20 


402  BLAISE  PASCAL. 

« 

By  adopting  the  epistolary  form  of  composition,  which  ad- 
mits great  freedom  of  transition  and  colloquial  piquancy  of 
style,  and  by  throwing  most  of  the  argument  into  the  garb  of 
dialogue,  Pascal  contrived  to  render  even  this  abstruse  and 
perplexed  controversy  intelligible  and  pleasant  to  all  classes  of 
readers.  He  had  less  difficulty  with  the  remainder  of  his  task, 
which  was  to  expose  the  false  morality  of  the  Jesuit  casuists. 
From  writers  of  established  reputation  among  them,  such  as 
Escobar,  Busenbaum,  Bauny,  and  others,  he  has  accumulated 
a  long  list  of  scandalous  decisions,  and  has  dwelt  upon  them 
with  so  much  wit  and  severity,  that  he  has  rendered  the  very 
name  of  Jesuitism  a  synonyme  for  chicane,  deception,  and 
falsehood.  It  is  a  curious  corroboration  of  this  fact,  that  the 
popularity  of  his  Letters  in  France  introduced  the  word  esco- 
barder,  meaning  "  to  prevaricate,  or  shuffle,"  into  common  use 
in  the  language.  Pascal  is  often  accused,  though  without 
reason,  of  treating  the  Jesuits  unfairly,  by  holding  the  whole 
society  responsible  for  the  unauthorized  doctrines  of  individual 
members.  But  he  cites  those  works  only  which  were  of  re- 
pute among  them,  which  were  adopted  by  them  as  guides  in 
the  confessional  chair,  and  had  passed  through  many  editions. 
Escobar's  treatise  on  Moral  Theology,  which  Pascal  quotes 
most  frequently,  went  through  forty  editions,  and  more  than 
fifty  editions  were  published  of  the  casuistical  writings  of  Bu- 
senbaum, The  Jesuits,  also,  were  too  proud  and  resolute,  too 
firmly  attached  to  each  other  and  to  the  reputation  of  the  so- 
ciety as  a  whole,  to  censure  or  repudiate  works  which  they 
had  once  sanctioned.  They  yielded  nothing,  they  disavowed 
nothing,  but  perished  in  the  attempt  to  defend  all.  They  ac- 
cused their  assailant  of  making  unfair  quotations,  but  did  not 
deny  that  the  writers  whom  he  cited  were  authoritative.  Pas- 
cal replied,  that  he  had  read  Escobar  twice  through,  and  had 
not  cited  a  passage  from  the  other  authors,  without  seeing  it 
in  the  book,  and  carefully  examining  the  context. 

In  truth,  the  ethical  doctrines  which  lie  reprobates  were  in- 
terwoven with  the  fundamental  principles  of  the  society,  and 
were  a  necessary  consequence  of  the  position  which  the  Jesuits 
had  assumed,  and  the  mission  which  they  had  undertaken  to 
accomplish.  Their  society  was  the  last  great  instrument  of 


BLAISE  PASCAL.  403 

the  old  papal  dominion.  It  came  into  tlie  world  too  late  for 
its  work  ;  for  the  great  schism  had  taken  place,  and  no  array 
of  forces,  however  well  disciplined,  could  prevent  the  fatal 
consequences  of  such  a  rent  in  the  Church.  They  undertook 
to  reverse  the  declaration  of  the  Saviour,  that  the  children  of 
this  world  are,  in  their  generation,  wiser  than  the  children  of 
light.  They  borrowed  the  weapons  of  the  devil  to  serve 
heaven  with,  and  aimed  to  subjugate  the  world  by  conforming 
themselves  to  its  spirit.  When  they  could  not  face  the  nobler 
instincts  of  humanity,  they  made  skilful  and  unhesitating  use 
of  all  the  baser  appetites  and  passions,  and  became  the  ready 
tools  and  apologists  of  those  who  wished  to  compromise  be- 
tween conscience  and  convenience.  They  preached  a  miti- 
gated doctrine  of  religion  and  morals,  and  thereby  made  them- 
selves acceptable  at  court,  and  gained  the  private  ear  of  the 
monarchs,  of  whom  they  were  the  favorite  confessors.  The 
Jesuits  Annat,  Le  Tellier,  and  La  Chaise  governed  France  by 
granting  absolution  on  easy  terms  to  the  sins  of  Louis  the 
Fourteenth  ;  the  gratitude  of  the  king  being  proportioned  to 
the  number  of  his  offences,  and  to  the  indulgence  with  which 
they  were  considered.  Their  precepts  formed  the  monstrous 
anomaly  of  his  religious  character,  —  a  compound  of  bigoted 
devotion  and  moral  turpitude.  But  the  Jesuits  were  too  adroit 
to  profit  in  their  own  persons  by  the  laxity  of  the  principles 
which  they  preached  to  others.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  they 
were  generally  irreproachable,  and  even  austere,  in  their  pri- 
vate conduct.  This  contradiction  occasioned  the  sarcastic  re- 
mark, that  they  purchased  heaven  very  dearly  for  themselves, 
but  sold  it  at  a  very  cheap  bargain  to  their  converts. 

Acute  and  subtile  in  reasoning,  they  reduced  their  false 
morality  to  a  system,  and  framed  consistent  rules  for  their 
own  guidance  in  the  practices  of  confession  and  absolution. 
They  defined  sin  to  be  a  wilful  violation  of  the  law  of  God, 
and  measured  its  enormity  by  the  penitent's  consciousness  of 
its  true  character,  and  by  his  free  consent  to  its  commission. 
Strong  temptation  and  temporary  forgetfulness  of  the  divine 
command  palliated  the  offence,  by  hiding  its  sinful  nature 
from  the  view  of  the  transgressor.  Since  hardly  any  one  loves 
sin  as  such,  or  for  its  own  sake,  a  sufficient  mantle  is  hereby 


404  BLAISE   PASCAL. 

provided  to  cover  the  greatest  enormities.  Habit,  or  even 
bad  example,  which  increases  the  force  of  temptation,  par- 
tially excuses  the  act ;  that  which  is  not  wantonly  or  gratui- 
tously committed  is  not  to  be  severely  judged.  Other  grounds 
of  pardon  were  also  recognized.  One  of  the  most  abominable 
of  these  is  the  doctrine  of  mental  reservation,  which  allows 
one  to  make  a  promise  coupled  with  a  secret  condition  in  his 
own  mind,  which  he  knows  is  not  understood  by  the  person  to 
whom  the  promise  is  given.  A  man  may  say  what  is  true  in 
the  meaning  that  he  attaches  to  it,  though  he  is  aware  that 
it  will  be  interpreted  in  a  different  sense.  Even  perjury  is 
allowable,  if  one  only  swears  outwardly,  without  inwardly  in- 
tending what  he  professes.  Duelling  is  forbidden  ;  but  if  a 
person  is  in  danger  of  losing  an  office,  or  forfeiting  the  good 
opinion  of  his  ruler,  by  refusing  to  engage  in  a  duel,  he  is  not 
to  be  condemned  for  fighting ;  for  then  he  does  not  wish  to 
violate  the  law,  but  only  to  preserve  his  honor  or  his  station. 

These  were  the  detestable  maxims  of  Jesuitical  casuistry, 
maxims  deliberately  recommended  in  their  books  and  taught 
from  the  confessional  chair,  which  Pascal  so  happily  exposed. 
By  holding  them  up  to  public  reprobation  and  contempt,  he 
rendered  no  less  signal  service  to  morality  and  religion  than 
to  the  almost  desperate  fortunes  of  the  Port  Royalists.  But 
even  the  publication  of  the  "  Provincial  Letters,"  though  it 
covered  the  assailants  with  shame,  would  not,  probably,  have 
sufficed  for  the  protection  of  the  assailed,  if  a  supposed  mir- 
acle, perhaps  the  best  accredited  of  its  class  in  modern  times, 
had  not  taken  place,  and  created  a  popular  belief,  of  which 
the  Jansenists  instantly  availed  themselves,  that  Heaven  itself 
was  interposing  in  behalf  of  the  persecuted  sect. 

Pascal's  niece,  a  girl  about  eleven  years  of  age,  the  daugh- 
ter of  Madame  Perier,  resided  as  a  pupil  in  the  Port  Royal 
nunnery.  The  poor  child  had  been  afflicted  for  more  than 
three  years  with  u  fistula  laerymalis,  in  the  corner  of  the  left 
eye.  It  had  affected  the  bones  of  the  nose  and  palate,  and 
frightfully  disfigured  her  externally,  one  side  of  her  face  being 
entirely  ulcerated.  After  the  ablest  physicians  and  surgeons 
of  Paris  had  exhausted  their  skill  upon  the  case  without  ef- 
fect, they  determined  to  make  trial  of  the  actual  cautery,  and 


BLAISE   PASCAL.  405 

the  day  for  this  painful  operation  was  fixed.  Meanwhile,  a 
collector  of  relics  in  the  city,  named  M.  de  la  Potterie,  pre- 
tended to  have  gained  possession  of  one  of  the  thorns  which 
had  composed  the  crown  that  the  soldiers  platted  and  put 
upon  our  Saviour's  head.  As  Voltaire  remarks,  by  what 
means  such  an  extraordinary  relic  was  preserved,  and  trans- 
ported from  Jerusalem  to  the  Faubourg  St.  Jacques,  we  are 
not  informed.  But  the  populace  believed  in  the  Holy  Thorn, 
and  the  members  of  the  several  religious  communities  vied  with 
each  other  in  their  eagerness  to  have  it  exhibited  at  their  re- 
spective establishments.  Among  others,  the  Port  Royal  nuns 
requested  to  see  it,  and  it  was  carried  to  them  on  the  24th  of 
March,  1656.  It  was  placed  on  a  little  altar  within  the  grate 
of  the  choir,  and  a  procession  of  the  pupils  and  nuns  marched 
by,  singing  appropriate  hymns,  and  each  in  her  turn  kissing 
the  holy  relic.  One  of  the  instructors  stood  near,  and  could 
not  help  shuddering  as  she  saw  the  disfigured  little  girl  ap- 
proach. "  Recommend  yourself  to  God,  my  child,"  she  ex- 
claimed, "  and  touch  your  diseased  eye  with  the  Holy  Thorn." 
The  command  was  obeyed,  and  the  little  girl  instantly  felt 
the  assurance,  as  she  afterwards  declared,  that  she  was  healed. 
She  told  one  of  her  young  companions  of  the  fact  that  night, 
and  the  next  day  it  was  made  known  to  the  nuns,  who  ex- 
amined the  eye,  and  found  the  cure  was  complete.  There 
was  no  tumor,  or  exudation  of  matter,  not  even  a  scar. 

Three  or  four  days  afterwards,  Dalence,  one  of  the  sur- 
geons who  were  engaged  to  apply  the  hot  iron,  came  to  the 
house,  and  asked  to  see  the  patient.  She  was  brought  to  him, 
but  he  did  not  recognize  her,  and  said  again  that  he  wished  to 
see  the  girl  whose  eye  and  cheek  were  ulcerated.  "She  now 
stands  before  you,"  was  the  reply.  Amazed  at  such  an  an- 
nouncement, he  examined  the  little  girl  with  great  care,  and 
could  not  find  any  trace  of  the  disease.  He  then  sent  for  his 
two  associates,  who  repeated  the  examination,  and  declared 
that  the  patient  was  entirely  cured.  The  report  of  this  mira- 
cle created  great  sensation  in  Paris.  Crowds  flocked  to  Port 
Royal,  to  behold  and  admire  the  Holy  Thorn.  The  queen 
mother  deputed  M.  Felix,  first  surgeon  of  the  king,  who  en- 
joyed a  high  reputation  for  probity  and  skill,  to  inquire  into 


406  BLAISE  PASCAL. 

the  truth  of  the  story.  He  questioned  the  nuns  and  the  sur- 
geons, drew  up  an  account  of  the  origin,  progress,  and  end  of 
the  disease,  attentively  examined  the  girl,  and  at  last  declared, 
in  a  paper  attested  by  his  signature,  that  neither  nature  nor  art 
had  had  any  share  in  the  cure,  but  that  it  was  attributable  to 
God  alone.  The  cry  was  now  universal,  that  divine  power 
had  interposed  in  behalf  of  the  Jansenists,  and  their  enemies 
were  covered  with  confusion  and  dismay.  The  severe  meas- 
ures that  had  been  instituted  against  the  Port  Royal  society 
were  instantly  relaxed.  The  nuns  were  again  allowed  to  re- 
ceive their  pupils,  the  illustrious  recluses  returned  to  the  spot 
consecrated  by  their  studies  and  devotions,  and  even  Arnauld 
came  forth  from  his  hiding-place,  and  gave  God  thanks. 
Mademoiselle  Perier  lived  seventy-five  years  after  this  event, 
without  any  return  of  the  malady.  She  was  still  alive  when 
the  poet  Racine  drew  up  his  narrative  of  the  affair,  from  which 
we  have  taken  this  account. 

The  generation  which  has  given  credit  to  the  wonders  of 
animal  magnetism  has  no  right  to  laugh  at  the  miracle  of  the 
Holy  Thorn.  Putting  aside  the  inference  respecting  super- 
natural agency,  the  fact  itself,  attested  by  such  men  as  Fe- 
lix, Arnauld,  Racine,  and  Pascal,  who  had  full  opportunity  to 
satisfy  themselves  of  the  truth  of  the  statement,  cannot  be 
lightly  questioned.  An  almost  desperate  malady  was  sud- 
denly cured  under  the  circumstances  related.  Is  it  reasona- 
ble to  suppose,  that  this  event  was  produced  by  the  special 
interposition  of  the  Deity  in  behalf  of  the  Jansenists  ?  Think- 
ing and  judicious  persons  at  the  present  day  will  answer  this 
question,  without  hesitation,  in  the  negative.  They  will  ad- 
mit the  mysterious  character  of  disease,  and  the  remarkable 
results  often  produced  by  the  working  of  occult  natural  causes, 
like  the  wonderful  operations  of  sympathy,  and  the  curative 
effects  of  a  lively  imagination  and  strong  emotions.  But 
rather  than  admit  the  interference  of  supernatural  causes,  they 
will  accept  the  commentary  of  Voltaire,  apart  from  the  dia- 
bolical sneer  with  which  it  is  uttered.  "  It  is  not  very  likely," 
says  the  old  scoffer,  "  that  God,  who  makes  no  miracles  to  im- 
part a  knowledge  of  our  religion  to  nineteen  twentieths  of 
mankind,  to  whom  this  religion  is  either  unknown  or  an  object 


BLAISE   PASCAL.  407 

of  horror,  did  actually  interrupt  the  order  of  nature  for  a 
little  girl,  in  order  to  justify  a  few  nuns,  who  pretended  that 
Cornelius  Jansen  did  not  write  about  a  dozen  lines  which  were 
attributed  to  him,  or  that  he  wrote  them  with  a  different  in- 
tention from  that  imputed  to  him  by  the  Jesuits." 

Neither  the  publication  of  the  "  Provincial  Letters,"  nor 
the  miracle  of  the  Holy  Thorn,  sufficed  to  avert  for  a  long 
period  the  persecution  and  final  ruin  of  the  sect  of  the  Jan- 
senists.  But  the  respite  thus  procured  lasted  till  the  death 
of  Pascal,  who  was  thus  spared  the  bitter  anguish  of  behold- 
ing the  defeat  and  dispersion  of  his  beloved  associates.  His 
physical  sufferings  now  became  extreme,  and,  in  1658,  they 
were  increased  by  a  long-continued  toothache,  which  almost 
entirely  deprived  him  of  sleep.  During  the  restless  hours  of 
the  night,  thus  passed  in  an  agony  of  pain,  his  mind  reverted 
to  his  former  mathematical  pursuits,  and,  as  a  mere  diversion, 
he  meditated  and  solved  his  famous  problems  relative  to  the 
cycloid. 

The  mind  of  the  religious  enthusiast  could   not  loner  be  di- 

o  o 

verted  by  such  labors  from  the  more  solemn  topics  which 
had  now  for  years  engrossed  his  attention.  His  devotional 
exercises  became  more  and  more  absorbing,  and  the  prac- 
tices of  penitence  and  self-denial,  to  which  he  submitted,  were 
rapidly  consuming  his  enfeebled  powers  of  life.  Devoting 
nearly  his  whole  income  to  the  service  of  the  poor,  he  deprived 
himself  of  every  luxury,  and  of  most  of  the  comforts  of  or- 
dinary existence.  In  a  small  chamber,  from  which  he  had 
caused  even  the  tapestry  to  be  removed,  lest  it  should  gratify 
his  eye,  and  where  he  would  not  allow  himself  the  services  of 
a  single  domestic,  so  long  as  his  strength  sufficed  for  making 
his  own  bed,  he  passed  most  of  his  time  in  prayer  and  the 
study  of  the  Scriptures.  To  this  cheerless  and  unfurnished 
apartment  men  distinguished  in  every  walk  of  science  and 
letters  frequently  resorted,  to  profit  by  the  conversation  of  the 
greatest  genius  of  his  country,  and  perhaps  of  his  age.  He 
talked  with  vivacity  and  wit,  as  might  be  expected  from  the 
author  of  the  "  Provincial  Letters,"  and  displayed  without 
effort  or  reserve  the  stores  of  his  information  and  the  vast 
range  of  his  intellect.  Human  nature  is  weak,  and  he  could 


408  BLAISE   PASCAL. 

not  but  be  gratified  and  flattered  to  find  his  conversation  so 
acceptable  to  others,  and  to  observe  the  superiority  of  his 
spirit  to  theirs.  But  this  pleasure  was  a  weakness,  it  was 
even  a  sin,  in  the  eyes  of  the  pious  devotee.  It  was  to  be 
mortified,  with  the  other  enticements  of  the  flesh,  and  to  be 
kept  in  subjection  to  the  love  of  God  and  the  hope  of  heaven. 
He  wore  a  girdle,  with  sharp  points  on  the  inside,  next  to 
his  flesh,  and  when  he  felt  any  movement  of  vanity  or  extraor- 
dinary pleasure  in  conversation,  he  pressed  the  iron  torture 
more  closely  to  his  side,  that  physical  pain  might  remind 
him  of  his  frailty  and  his  duty.  Pitiable  and  perverted,  in- 
deed, though  fervent  and  pure  in  him,  was  the  religious  faith 
which  led  to  the  infliction  of  such  gratuitous  suffering. 

In  strict  conformity  to  his  principle,  that  it  was  necessary 
to  renounce  all  the  pleasures  of  this  world,  he  tried  to  stifle 
even  the  ordinary  impulses  of  natural  affection,  and  to  pre- 
serve a  cold  and  rigid  exterior  to  his  nearest  friends,  even 
when  his  heart  was  overflowing  with  kindness  and  love.  His 
kindness  was  not  confined  to  those  with  whom  he  was  con- 
nected by  natural  ties ;  on  the  sick  and  destitute  stranger 
his  bounty  was  lavished  with  all  the  heroism  of  benevolence. 
During  his  last  illness,  he  had  given  a  lodging  in  his  house  to 
a  poor  man  and  his  son,  from  whom  he  received  no  return  but 
gratitude.  The  son  was  attacked  with  the  small-pox,  and 
could  not  be  carried  to  another  habitation  without  danger. 
Pascal's  feeble  condition  required  the  constant  care  of  his  sis- 
ter; and  as  her  children  had  not  had  this  disease,  he  desired  to 
save  them  from  the  risk  of  receiving  the  infection  through 
their  mother's  attendance  upon  himself.  Under  these  cir- 
cumstances, weak  and  suffering  as  he  was,  he  gave  up  his  own 
home  to  the  sick  boy,  and  went  to  reside  at  the  house  of  his 
sister. 

Except  his  elder  sister,  Madame  Perier,  he  was  now  alone 
in  the  world.  His  father  had  died  in  IGol,  and  the  loss  had 
made  a  deep  impression  upon  him  ;  for  the  similarity  of  their 
characters  and  pursuits  had  drawn  them  together  in  a  closer 
and  more  affectionate  intimacy  than  that  which  usually  exists 
between  parent  and  child.  A  letter  which  he  wrote  on  this 
occasion  is  preserved  among  his  works,  and  shows  a  spirit  of 


BLAISE  PASCAL.  409 

the  most  exalted  piety,  without  a  trace  of  cant  or  affected 
feeling.  Ten  years  afterwards,  he  lost  Jacqueline  also,  the 
infant  actress,  whose  graceful  pleading  had  redeemed  their 
father  from  exile,  and  whose  later  years  had  been  entirely 
consecrated  to  God's  service  in  the  nunnery  at  Port  Royal. 
She  had  become  sub-prioress  in  this  institution,  and  her  death 
was  hastened  by  perplexity  and  grief,  after  the  machinations 
of  the  Jesuits  had  at  length  caused  the  inexorable  decree  to 
go  forth,  that  all  the  Jansenist  nuns  should  subscribe  the  for- 
mulary, which  contained  an  explicit  renunciation  of  the  opin- 
ions they  had  so  long  cherished.  Strange  effect,  that  a  per- 
verted faith  and  ecclesiastical  persecution  should  cause  a 
woman  to  die  of  grief,  because  required  to  sign  a  declaration, 
that  the  five  propositions  in  their  heretical  sense  were  actually 
written  in  the  book  of  Jansenius  !  The  historian  of  the  Port 
Royalists  records  the  remark  which  she  made  on  her  death- 
bed, that  she  was  "  the  first  victim  of  the  formulary."  Pas- 
cal was  tenderly  attached  to  her,  and  when  informed  of  her 
death,  exclaimed  with  a  sigh,  "  God  grant  that  my  end  may 
be  like  hers  !  " 

His  own  life  was  now  rapidly  drawing  to  a  close,  though  one 
work  still  remained  for  him  to  accomplish.  It  was  meet  that 
a  spirit  touched  to  so  fine  issues  should  not  leave  the  world 
without  bequeathing  to  it  a  more  valuable  and  befitting  memo- 
rial of  united  genius  and  piety  than  was  contained  in  the  Let- 
ters respecting  the  controversy  with  the  Jesuits.  For  three 
years  before  his  death,  the  progress  of  his  disease,  and  the 
paroxysms  of  pain  that  he  endured,  left  only  infrequent  and 
short  intervals  during  which  his  mind  was  capable  of  effort  ; 
but  these  he  zealously  employed  in  making  preparations  for 
a  great  work  on  the  philosophy  of  human  nature  and  the 
proofs  of  the  Christian  religion.  On  these  subjects  he  wrote 
down  detached  thoughts,  as  they  occurred  to  him,  upon  loose 
scraps  of  paper  ;  and  when  he  was  incapable  of  holding  the 
pen  for  himself,  a  faithful  domestic  sat  by  his  bedside,  and 
wrote  from  his  dictation.  In  this  way  there  was  accumulated 
a  mass  of  unconnected  hints  and  aphorisms,  which  he  was  not 
allowed  to  arrange  and  complete. 

In  the  summer  of  1662,  another  painful  disease  was  added 


410  BLAISE   PASCAL. 

to  those  which  had  already  undermined  his  constitution  and 
brought  him  to  the  brink  of  the  grave.  When  this  malady 
was  at  its  height,  frequently  depriving  him  of  consciousness, 
he  was  removed  to  his  sister's  house  for  the  reason  already 
mentioned.  There  he  tranquilly  occupied  himself  in  prepar- 
ing for  death.  He  made  his  will,  leaving  large  sums  to  the 
poor ;  and  would  have  bequeathed  to  them  his  whole  property, 
if  the  condition  of  his  sister's  children,  who  were  not  rich, 
had  not  required  his  aid.  As  he  could  not  do  more  for  the 
sick  and  the  destitute,  he  wished  at  least  to  die  among  them, 
and  he  eagerly  desired  his  friends  to  carry  him  to  the  Hospital 
for  the  Incurables.  They  could  dissuade  him  from  executing 
this  intention  only  by  promising,  that,  if  he  recovered,  he 
should  be  free  to  devote  his  whole  life  and  property  to  the 
service  of  the  poor.  In  the  beginning  of  August,  as  his  end 
was  obviously  nigh  at  hand,  he  called  with  great  earnestness 
for  the  last  services  of  the  Church.  This  request  was  at 
length  granted,  after  a  fainting-fit  had  occurred,  which  lasted 
so  long  that  his  friends  believed  he  was  dead.  But  he  re- 
covered sufficiently  to  raise  himself  on  the  couch,  and  receive 
the  sacrament  with  marks  of  resignation  and  deep  feeling, 
which  drew  tears  from  all  the  beholders.  A  moment  after- 
wards, he  fell  into  convulsions,  which  closed  the  scene.  He 
died  on  the  29th  of  August,  1662,  aged  thirty-nine  years.  In 
the  church  of  St.  Etienne  du  Mont,  at  Paris,  a  marble  tablet 
on  one  of  the  pillars  near  the  great  altar,  with  a  simple  in- 
scription, informs  the  reader  that  he  is  standing  upon  the 
tomb  of  Pascal. 

The  loose  hints  and  unconnected  fragments,  which  he  had 
prepared  for  his  great  work  on  the  proofs  of  the  Christian 
religion,  were  first  collected  and  published  in  1670,  under  the 
title  of  "  Thoughts  of  M.  Pascal  upon  Religion  and  some 
other  Topics."  They  were  left  at  his  death  in  a  state  of  utter 
confusion,  and  in  the  first  edition,  many  of  them  were  sup- 
pressed, and  the  others  were  printed  in  a  very  defective  ar- 
rangement, so  that  portions  of  the  work  appeared  very  obscure. 
Bossut  superintended  a  complete  edition  of  them  in  177!), 
having  diligently  examined  the  original  manuscripts,  and  per- 
fected the  classification  which  was  commenced  by  Condorcet. 


BLAISE   PASCAL.  411 

A  few  years  before,  Voltaire  had  published  an  edition,  with 
notes,  such  as  might  be  expected  from  one  of  his  character 
and  principles.  He  hated  Pascal's  creed,  and  called  him  "  a 
sublime  misanthrope  "  ;  but  according  to  his  own  confession, 
he  had  studied  the  "  Provincial  Letters  "  and  the  "  Thoughts," 
till  he  almost  knew  them  by  heart.  We  read  them  now  as 
general  aphorisms,  which  apparently  have  little  immediate 
connection  with  each  other,  though  the  leading  purpose  of  the 
writer  is  sufficiently  obvious,  and  they  all  seem  to  converge 
towards  the  great  questions  respecting  human  nature  and 
destiny.  The  fine  discernment  of  the  writer,  the  scientific 
exactness  and  condensation  of  the  style,  are  the  more  apparent 
from  the  broken  and  fragmentary  condition  of  the  "  Thoughts." 
There  is  a  want  of  roundness  and  flow  in  the  composition,  but 
it  is  admirable  for  terseness  and  epigrammatic  point.  Some- 
times he  is  hurried  away  by  the  love  of  antithesis,  and  the  ex- 
pression is  often  so  elliptical  as  to  be  obscure.  But  the  origi- 
nal and  striking  character  of  the  reflections,  the  keen  analysis 
of  motives,  the  vivacity  and  energy  of  the  style,  the  rapid  and 
forcible  progress  of  the  arguments,  and  the  singular  richness 
and  novelty  of  the  illustrations,  command  the  reader's  atten- 
tion through  all  these  disadvantages.  A  more  impressive  and 
eloquent  work  does  not  exist  in  the  French  language. 

The  "  Thoughts  "  are  deeply  tinged  with  the  despondency 
of  the  writer's  mind,  and  with  the  peculiarities  of  his  religious 
opinions.  He  seems  to  triumph  in  exposing  the  weakness  and 
imperfection  of  human  nature,  and  the  vanity  of  human  pur- 
suits. The  corruption  of  the  heart  and  the  weakness  of  the 
intellect  are  the  themes  on  which  he  most  willingly  expa- 
tiates, using  at  times  bitter  sarcasm  and  the  loftiest  invective. 

'  O 

"His  melancholy  genius,"  says  Hallam,  "  plays  in  wild  and 
rapid  flashes,  like  the  lightning  round  the  scathed  oak,  about 
the  fallen  greatness  of  man."  But  it  is  not  with  the  mocking 

o  o 

spirit  of  a  satirist  that  he  dilates  upon  the  fallen  and  wretched 
condition  of  our  race.  In  his  eyes,  man  is  weak  and  degraded, 
but  not  contemptible ;  his  view  is  fixed  as  much  upon  the 
heights  from  which  he  has  fallen,  as  upon  the  abyss  into  which 
he  is  plunged.  His  magnificent  lamentations  are  uttered 
in  the  spirit  of  Jeremiah  weeping  over  the  sins  of  his  nation, 


412  BLAISE   PASCAL. 

and  pointing  out  the  ruin  with  which  it  is  menaced.  He 
seeks  to  humble  only  that  he  may  exalt,  to  point  out  the 
frailty  and  wretchedness  of  man's  condition  in  this  world, 
only  that  his  attention  may  be  diverted  from  it,  and  fixed  upon 
the  unutterable  splendors  of  the  life  to  come.  "  Man  is  so 
great,"  he  says,  "  that  his  grandeur  appears  from  the  knowl- 
edge he  has  of  his  own  misery.  A  tree  knows  not  that  it  is 
wretched.  True,  it  is  sad  to  know  that  we  are  miserable ; 
but  it  is  also  a  mark  of  greatness  to  be  aware  of  this  misery. 
Thus  all  the  wretchedness  of  man  proves  his  nobleness.  It  is 
the  unhappiness  of  a  great  lord,  the  misery  of  a  dethroned 
king."  The  misery  of  our  present  condition  is  aggravated  by 
the  consciousness  that  we  have  fallen  from  a  state  of  inno- 
cence and  peace.  Like  the  poet,  Pascal  finds  that  there  is 
no  greater  grief  than  the  recollection  of  happiness  formerly 
enjoyed.  "  Who,  but  a  discrowned  monarch/'  he  asks,  "  is 
grieved  that  he  does  not  possess  a  throne  ?  Who  thinks 
himself  unhappy,  because  he  has  but  one  mouth  ?  And  who 
is  not  unhappy,  if  he  has  but  one  eye  ?  No  one  ever  thought 
of  sorrowing,  because  he  has  not  three  eyes  ;  but  he  is  incon- 
solable, if  he  has  but  one." 

The  chief  purpose  of  the  work  is  to  show  man's  need  of 
religion,  in  order  both  to  explain  the  enigma  of  his  present 
state,  and  to  console  him  in  the  midst  of  privation  and  suffer- 
ing. The  argument  is  not  addressed  to  the  understanding, 
but  to  the  feelings  ;  and  its  aim  is  rather  to  persuade  than  to 
convince.  "  The  heart  has  its  reasons,"  he  says,  "  which 
the  intellect  knoweth  not  of ;  we  perceive  this  truth  in  a  thou- 
sand things.  It  is  the  heart,  and  not  the  reason,  which  finds 
out  God  ;  and  this  is  perfect  faith,  God  made  known  to  the 
heart."  Metaphysical  proofs  of  a  God,  he  continues,  are  so 
far  removed  from  the  ordinary  sphere  of  human  reason,  and  so 
abstruse,  that  they  make  little  impression  ;  if  serviceable  to  a 
few,  they  will  be  so  only  so  long  as  the  demonstration  is  be- 
fore them  ;  an  hour  afterwards,  they  will  fear  they  have  been 
deceived.  Cicero  expresses  the  same  thought  still  more  clearly. 
Nendo  quo  modo,  dum  lego,  assentior ;  cum  posui  lilrum  et 
mecum  ipse  coepi  cogitare,  assensio  omnis  ilia  elalitur.  Pas- 
cal argues  further,  that  this  kind  of  proof  can  lead  only  to  a 


BLAISE   PASCAL.  413 

speculative  knowledge  of  God,  and  to  know  him  in  this  man- 
ner is  nearly  as  bad  as  to  be  entirely  ignorant  of  him.  In 
order  to  know  God  like  a  Christian,  man  must  become  ac- 
quainted with  the  misery  of  his  own  condition,  his  unworthi- 
ness,  and  his  need  of  a  mediator.  These  truths  must  not  be 
separated,  or  they  will  become  not  only  useless,  but  injurious. 
"  To  know  God,  without  being  aware  of  our  own  misery,  gives 
birth  to  pride ;  to  be  conscious  of  our  own  wretchedness,  with- 
out any  knowledge  of  Jesus  Christ,  leads  to  despair.  The 
knowledge  of  the  Saviour  exempts  us  both  from  pride  and  de- 
spair ;  for  in  him  we  find  God,  and  the  secret  of  our  miserable 
state  and  the  means  of  rising  above  it."  We  must  become  ac- 
quainted with  human  things,  he  adds,  before  loving  them  ; 
but  we  must  love  divine  things,  in  order  to  know  them. 

It  is  obvious,  that  Pascal's  intention  was  to  create  the  state 
of  mind  which  is  necessary  for  the  due  reception  of  religious 
truth,  before  offering  any  arguments  in  direct  support  of  that 
truth.  lie  seeks  first  to  humble  the  pride  of  the  intellect,  to 
point  out  the  enigmas  and  inconsistencies  of  our  nature,  its 
greatness  and  feebleness,  its  pride  and  abjectness,  to  convince 
mankind  of  their  degraded  and  corrupt  condition,  and  then  to 
show,  in  the  sublime  mysteries  of  Christian  faith,  at  once  an 
explanation  of  their  fallen  state,  a  solace  for  their  sufferings  in 
this  world,  and  a  glorious  hereafter.  "  Every  one,"  he  says, 
"  must  take  his  side,  and  range  himself  in  the  ranks  either 
of  Pyrrhonism  or  dogmatism  ;  for  he  who  thinks  to  remain 
neuter  will  be  a  Pyrrhonist  par  excellence  ;  this  neutrality  is 
the  very  essence  of  Pyrrhonism."  But  the  difficulty  of  mak- 
ing the  choice  is  great ;  for  "  reason  confutes  the  dogmatists, 
and  nature  confounds  the  sceptics  ;  we  have  an  incapacity  of 
demonstration,  which  the  former  cannot  overcome  ;  we  have 
a  conception  of  truth,  which  the  latter  cannot  disturb."  Thus 
bandied  about  between  opposing  difficulties,  constantly  urged 
to  continue  a  pursuit  which  can  never  be  successful,  man  is 
disappointed,  helpless,  and  miserable,  unless  light  come  to 
him  from  heaven,  and  an  almighty  arm  be  stretched  out  for  his 
aid. 

"  Man,"  he  observes,  "  has  a  secret  instinct,  that  leads  him  to  seek 
diversion  and  employment  from  without ;  this  springs  from  the  con- 


414  BLAISE   PASCAL. 

sciousness  of  his  continual  misery.  He  has  another  secret  impulse, 
remaining  from  the  grandeur  of  his  primitive  state,  which  teaches  him 
that  happiness  can  exist  only  in  repose.  And  from  these  two  con- 
trary instincts,  there  arises  in  him  an  obscure  idea,  concealed  in  the 
depths  of  the  soul,  that  pi'ompts  him  to  seek  repose  through  agitation, 
and  even  to  fancy  that  the  contentment  he  does  not  enjoy  will  yet  be 
found,  if  by  struggling  still  a  little  longer  he  can  open  the  door  to  rest. 
Thus  passes  his  whole  life.  He  seeks  for  repose  by  contending 
against  certain  obstacles  ;  and  when  he  has  surmounted  them,  repose 
itself  becomes  insupportable." 

The  book  is  so  incomplete  and  fragmentary,  that  it  is  very 
difficult  to  select  passages  which  will  give  a  fair  view  of  the 
drift  of  his  remarks,  or  the  general  characteristics  of  his  man- 
ner. His  language,  also,  from  its  remarkable  compression 
and  terseness,  hardly  admits  of  being  translated  without  los- 
ing most  of  its  vigor.  But  the  following  extract  may  give 
some  idea  of  his  power  of  thought  and  utterance. 

"  Let  not  man  confine  his  view  simply  to  the  objects  which  sur- 
round him  ;  let  him  contemplate  all  nature  in  its  lofty  and  entire 
majesty  ;  let  him  consider  the  great  orb  set  like  an  ever-burning 
beacon  to  illumine  the  universe  ;  let  the  earth  appear  to  him  like  a 
point,  in  comparison  with  the  vast  circle  which  this  luminary  seems 
to  describe  ;  let  him  wonder  that  this  vast  orbit  is  itself  but  a  delicate 
point,  when  compared  with  that  of  the  stars  which  roll  in  the  firma- 
ment. If  our  sight  stops  here,  the  imagination  passes  beyond.  The 
intellect  ceases  to  conceive,  before  nature  fails  to  supply.  All  that 
we  see  of  the. universe  is  but  a  spot  imperceptibly  small  in  the  ample 
bosom  of  nature.  No  idea  approaches  the  extent  of  infinite  space. 
In  vain  would  we  dilate  our  conceptions  ;  we  image  to  ourselves  only 
atoms,  in  comparison  with  the  reality.  It  is  an  infinite  sphere,  of 
which  the  centre  is  everywhere,  and  the  circumference  nowhere. 
And  it  is  one  of  the  most  striking  marks  of  the  omnipotence  of  God, 
that  our  imagination  is  lost  in  this  thought. 

"And  now,  returning  to  himself,  let  him  consider  what  man  is,  in 
comparison  with  all  that  is  j'let  him  look  upon  himself  as  lost  in  this 
by-corner  of  nature ;  and  from  the  appearance  of  this  little  dungeon 
in  which  he  is  lodged  —  this  visible  world  —  let  him  learn  to  estimate 
himself,  and  the  cities  and  kingdoms  of  this  earth,  at  their  true  value. 
....  In  truth,  what  is  man  in  the  midst  of  nature  ?  A  cipher  in 
respect  to  the  infinite,  and  all  in  comparison  with  nonentity,  —  a  mean 


BLAISE   PASCAL.  415 

betwixt  nothing  and  all.  lie  is  infinitely  far  removed  from  the  two 
extremes  ;  and  his  being  is  not  less  distant  from  the  nothingness 
whence  he  was  drawn,  than  from  the  infinite  in  which  he  is  ingulfed. 
In  the  order  of  intelligent  things,  his  intellect  holds  the  same  rank 
that  his  body  does  in  the  expanse  of  nature  ;  all  that  he  can  do  is  to 
discern  some  phenomena  from  the  midst  of  things,  in  eternal  despair 
of  ever  knowing  their  beginning  or  their  end.  All  tilings  came  from 
nothing,  and  extend  even  to  the  infinite.  AYho  can  follow  this  as- 
tonishing progress?  The  author  of  these  marvels  understands  them; 
to  all  others  they  are  unintelligible.  We  burn  with  desire  to  know 
everything,  and  to  build"  a  tower  which  shall  rise  even  to  the  heavens. 
But  our  whole  edifice  cracks,  and  the  earth  opens  beneath  us  even  to 
the  abyss." 

With  this  striking  picture  of  the  insignificance  and  weak- 
ness of  man,  contrast  the  following  sublime  reflection  upon 
his  grandeur  as  a  thinking  soul.  "  Man  is  the  feeblest  branch 
of  nature,  but  it  is  a  branch  that  thinks.  It  is  not  necessary 
that  the  whole  universe  should  rise  in  arms  to  crush  him.  A 
vapor,  a  drop  of  water,  is  enough  to  kill  him.  But  if  the 
universe  should  crush  him,  he  would  still  be  nobler  than  that 
which  causes  his  death  ;  for  he  knows  that  he  is  dying,  and 
the  universe  knows  nothing  of  its  power  over  him."  It  is  in 
view  of  contrarieties  like  these,  that  Pascal  exclaims,  "  What 
an  enigma,  then,  is  man  !  What  a  strange,  chaotic,  and  con- 
tradictory being  !  Judge  of  all  things,  feeble  earthworm,  de- 
positary of  the  truth,  mass  of  uncertainty,  glory  and  butt  of 
the  universe,  — if  he  boasts  himself,  I  abase  him  ;  if  he  hum- 
bles himself,  I  make  my  boast  of  him  ;  and  I  always  contra- 
dict him,  till  he  comprehends  that  he  is  an  incomprehensible 
monster." 

The  great  doctrine  of  the  book,  to  which  most  of  the  pre- 
ceding illustrations  are  subservient,  is  the  duty  of  the  entire 
submission  of  human  reason  in  matters  of  faith.  To  this  pre- 
cept the  writer  recurs  again  and  again,  and  seems  never  to  be 
weary  of  inculcating  it.  Unquestionably  it  is  a  great  truth, 
but  a  most  perilous  one  to  define  and  apply.  He  admits,  that 
"reason  alone  can  tell  where  reason  ends."  The  humility  of 
his  spirit  in  enforcing  this  dogma  appears  the  more  remarka- 
ble, when  contrasted  with  his  singular  boldness  and  indepen- 


416  BLAISE   PASCAL. 

dence  of  thought  upon  all  other  topics.  On  all  matters  of 
scientific  inquiry,  his  resistance  to  the  weight  of  authority, 
and  his  assertion  of  the  right  of  private  judgment,  is  one  of 
the  most  striking  traits  of  his  genius.  "  Truth,"  he  says,  "  is 
the  most  ancient  of  all  things,  —  older  than  all  the  opinions 
that  have  been  had  of  it ;  whatever  aspect  antiquity  may 
present,  truth,  however  lately  discovered,  ought  always  to 
have  the  advantage  over  it;  it  is  gross  ignorance  to  imagine 
that  nature  began  to  be,  when  it  began  to  be  known."  His 
success  in  refuting  the  old  scholastic  doctrine  of  nature's  ab- 
horrence of  a  vacuum  probably  strengthened  this  indepen- 
dence of  mind,  and  led  him  to  dwell  upon  it  with  more  ear- 
nestness. His  fine  remark,  in  speaking  of  the  weight  due  to 
authority,  that  the  ancients  after  all  were  only  the  children 
among  mankind,  has  been  so  often  cited  without  giving  him 
credit  for  it,  that  it  is  worth  while  to  quote  it  in  his  own 
words,  though  with  considerable  abridgment. 

"  Animals  make  no  progress.  The  hexagonal  cells  of  bees  were 
as  accurately  measured  and  finished  a  thousand  years  ago,  as  they  are 
at  the  present  day.  It  is  not  so  with  man,  who  is  born  for  eternity. 
He  is  ignorant  at  first,  but  constantly  acquires  knowledge,  not  only 
from  his  own  experience,  but  from  the  accumulated  wisdom  of  his 
predecessors.  Men  are  now  very  nearly  in  the  same  condition  that 
the  ancient  philosophers  would  have  arrived  at,  if  they  could  have 
lived  till  our  times,  constantly  adding  to  their  knowledge  what  they 
might  have  acquired  by  study  during  so  many  centuries.  All  the 
generations  of  men  during  so  many  ages  ought  to  be  considered  only 
as  one  man,  who  lives  forever,  and  is  continually  learning.  Hence, 
how  improper  it  is  to  respect  philosophers  for  their  antiquity  !  For 
as  old  age  is  the  period  farthest  removed  from  infancy,  who  does  not 
see,  that  the  old  age  of  this  universal  man  ought  not  to  be  sought  for 
in  the  years  nearest  to  his  birth,  but  in  those  most  remote  from  it  ? 
Those  whom  we  call  the  ancients  were  truly  young  in  all  things,  and 
formed  the  infancy  of  mankind.  As  we  have  joined  to  their  knowl- 
edge the  experience  of  the  ages  which  came  after  them,  it  is  in  us 
that  this  antiquity  is  to  be  found  which  we  are  wont  to  revere  in 
others." 

As  Lord  Bacon  says  nearly  the  same  thing,  it  is  not  un- 
likely that  Pascal  derived  the  first  hint  of  it  from  the  writings 


BLAISE  PASCAL.  417 

of  the  English  philosopher ;  which  is  a  further  proof  of  what 
we  have  already  had  reason  to  suspect,  that  he  had  profited 
by  these  writings  in  the  earlier  part  of  his  career. 

Only  this  submissive  and  child-like  spirit  in  religious  inquiry 
could  have  retained  the  otherwise  bold  and  inquisitive  intel- 
lect of  Pascal  in  bondage  to  the  Romish  Church.  This  frame 
of  mind  may  be  partially  accounted  for  by  his  experience  in 
the  Jansenist  controversy,  which  had  led  him  to  put  great 
stress  upon  the  distinction  between  the  droit  and  the  fait,  be- 
tween questions  of  doctrine  and  matters  of  fact.  He  was  thus 
induced  blindly  to  accept  whatever  was  taught  by  the  Fathers 
and  the  Councils,  while  he  opposed  with  unflinching  skepticism 
the  doctrines  of  the  Scholastic  philosophy.  He  refers  fre- 
quently to  the  Catholic  doctrine  respecting  the  eucharist,  and 
the  Calvinistic  one  of  the  transmission  of  sin,  in  illustration 
of  his  favorite  theme,  the  incapacity  of  human  nature  to  com- 
prehend religious  truth.  The  following  acute  remark  relates 
to  the  practice  of  auricular  confession. 

"  Is  it  riot  true,  that  we  hate  the  truth  and  those  who  utter  it  to  us, 
while  we  love  those  who  practise  pleasant  deceptions  upon  us,  and 
wish  to  be  esteemed  by  them  as  different  beings  from  what  we  are  ? 
Here  is  a  proof  of  it  which  shocks  me.  The  Catholic  religion  does 
not  require  one  to  make  known  his  sins  indifferently  to  all  the  world ; 
it  permits  him  to  conceal  them  from  the  view  of  other  men  in  general ; 
but  it  makes  an  exception  in  favor  of  one  person,  to  whom  it  com- 
mands him  to  disclose  the  very  depths  of  his  heart,  and  to  appear  in 
his  sight  as  he  really  is.  There  is  but  one  man  in  the  world  whom  it 
commands  us  thus  to  disabuse  ;  and  it  binds  him  to  inviolable  secrecy, 
so  that  this  knowledge  is  in  him  as  if  it  did  not  exist  at  all.  Can  we 
imagine  anything  more  charitable  and  mild  ?  And  yet,  the  corrup- 
tion of  man  is  such,  that  he  finds  even  this  law  too  severe,  and  it  is 
one  of  the  principal  reasons  which  have  caused  a  great  part  of  Europe 
to  revolt  against  the  Church.  How  unjust  and  unreasonable  is  the 
heart  of  man,  to  object  to  doing  to  one  person  what  it  would  be  only 
fair  to  do  to  all  men !  For  is  it  just  that  we  should  deceive  them  ? 
There  are  different  degrees  in  this  aversion  to  the  truth  ;  but  it  may 
be  said  to  exist  in  all  in  some  measure  ;  for  it  is  inseparable  from  self- 
love." 

This  is  very  ingenious,  but  it  is  sophistical.    We  do  not  love 

27 


418  BLAISE  PASCAL. 

nor  practise  deception  as  such,  or  for  its  own  sake.  "We  de- 
test the  flatterer,  and  cast  him  off  as  soon  as  his  falsehood  is 
exposed.  We  are  pleased,  indeed,  when  we  learn  that  others 
entertain  a  good  opinion  of  us ;  but  this  is  only  a  mark  of  the 
kindly  sympathy  which  binds  societies  of  men  together.  The 
avowal,  whether  true  or  false,  of  this  opinion  is  a  matter  of  no 
substantive  importance  ;  it  is  the  fact  alone  in  which  we  are 
interested  ;  if  thoroughly  convinced  of  the  existence  of  this 
opinion,  we  could  very  well  dispense  with  the  expression  of  it. 
We  are  reluctant  to  expose  our  faults,  because  unwilling  to 
fall  in  the  estimation  of  our  friends,  or  to  afford  matter  of 
triumph  to  our  enemies  ;  but  concealment  is  not  prized  for  its 
own  sake,  nor  from  any  wish  to  deceive.  We  fear  ungenerous 
and  harsh  constructions  ;  if  the  fault  could  be  made  known 
with  all  its  palliating  circumstances,  and  thus  seem  as  excusa- 
ble in  the  eyes  of  others  as  it  appears  in  our  own,  its  dis- 
closure would  be  a  matter  of  comparative  indifference.  Some 
feelings,  also,  though  perfectly  innocent,  are  sensitive,  and  fear 
the  light ;  we  conceal  them,  certainly  without  any  conscious- 
ness of  wrong,  or  any  possibility  of  injurious  deception. 

We  have  no  space  to  carry  any  farther  our  analysis  of  this 
remarkable  book,  which  such  competent  judges  as  Dr.  Ar- 
nold have  ranked  among  the  "  greatest  masterpieces  of  hu- 
man genius."  Our  remarks,  desultory  and  incomplete  as  the 
work  itself,  must  end  with  the  citation  of  a  few  more  of  the 
aphorisms,  though  much  of  their  spirit  necessarily  escapes  in  a 
translation.  Speaking  of  the  Jewish  Scriptures,  Pascal  ob- 
serves :  — 

"  I  find  no  reason  to  doubt  the  truth  of  a  book  which  contains  all 
these  tilings ;  for  there  is  a  great  difference  between  a  book  which  a 
person  makes  and  throws  among  a  people,  and  a  book  which  of  itself 
makes  a  people.  We  cannot  doubt  that  the  book  is  at  least  as  old  as 
the  people." 

"  Between  ns  and  heaven,  hell  or  annihilation,  there  is  only  human 
life,  which  of  all  things  in  the  world  is  the  frailest." 

"  When  we  would  .show  any  one  that  he  is  mistaken,  our  best  course 
is  to  observe  on  what  side  he  considers  the  subject;  for  his  view  of  it 
is  generally  right  on  this  side,  and  admit  to  him.  that  he  is  right  so 
far.  He  will  be  satisiied  with  this  acknowledgment,  that  he  was  not 


BLAISE  PASCAL.  419 

wrong  in  his  judgment,  but  only  inadvertent  in  not  looking  at  the 
whole  of  the  case.  For  we  are  less  ashamed  of  not  having  seen  the 
whole,  than  of  being  deceived  in  what  we  do  see  ;  and  this  may  per- 
haps arise  from  an  impossibility  of  the  understanding  being  deceived 
in  what  it  does  see,  just  as  the  perceptions  of  the  senses,  as  such, 
must  always  be  true." 

"  Nature  has  its  perfections,  to  show  that  it  is  the  image  of  God, 
and  its  faults,  to  show  that  it  is  only  his  image." 

"  Unbelievers  are  the  most  credulous  persons  in  the  world  ;  they  be- 
lieve the  miracles  of  Vespasian  [and  of  animal  magnetism],  in  order 
not  to  believe  those  of  Moses." 

"  The  multitude  which  cannot  be  reduced  to  unity  is  confusion  ;  and 
the  unity  which  does  not  depend  on  multitude  is  tyranny." 

''  The  synagogue  did  not  perish,  because  it  was  a  type  of  the 
church  ;  but  as  it  was  only  a  type,  it  fell  into  servitude.  The  symbol 
existed  until  the  reality  appeared,  in  order  that  the  church  might  al- 
ways be  visible,  either  in  the  image  which  foreshadowed  it,  or  in 
reality." 

"  What  can  be  more  ridiculous  and  vain  than  the  doctrine  of  the 
Stoics,  and  what  more  baseless  than  their  whole  reasoning  ?  They 
conclude,  that  what  a  man  can  sometimes  do,  he  can  always  do  ;  and 
because  the  desire  of  glory  enables  those  who  are  actuated  by  it  to 
accomplish  something  noble,  that  others  will  be  able  to  do  as  much. 
Theirs  are  the  convulsive  efforts  of  a  man  in  a  fever,  which  one  in. 
health  cannot  imitate." 

"  I  cannot  pardon  Descartes.  It  was  his  ambition,  in  his  system  of 
philosophy,  to  be  able  to  do  without  God  altogether ;  but  he  was 
obliged  to  suppose  the  Deity  gave  the  world  a  fillip  in  order  to  set  it 
in  motion  ;  after  which  there  was  nothing  more  for  him  to  do." 

"  We  are  not  to  suppose  that  Plato  and  Aristotle  always  wore  their 
long  robes,  and  appeared  as  dignified  and  serious  personages.  They 
were  good-natured  persons,  who  enjoyed  a  laugh  with  their  friends, 
like  the  rest  of  the  world  ;  and  when  they  wrote  upon  legislation  and 
politics,  it  was  only  by  way  of  enjoying  themselves  and  seeking  diver- 
sion. This  was  the  least  philosophical  and  the  least  serious  portion 
of  their  lives ;  the  most  philosophical  part  of  it  was  when  they  lived 
most  simply  and  tranquilly." 

''The  virtue  of  a  man  ought  not  to  be  measured  by  his  great  efforts, 
but  by  his  ordinary  conduct." 

"If  we  dreamed  every  night  the  same  thing,  it  would  affect  us  as 
much  perhaps  as  the  objects  which  we  see  every  day.  If  an  artisan 
was  sure  of  dreaming  every  night,  for  twelve  hours,  that  he  was  a 


420  BLAISE  PASCAL. 

king,  I  believe  he  would  be  nearly  as  happy  as  a  king  who  should 
dream  every  night,  for  twelve  hours,  that  he  was  an  artisan.  If  we 
dreamed  every  night  that  we  were  pursued  by  enemies  and  harassed 
by  terrible  phantoms,  while  we  passed  every  day  in  various  occupa- 
tions, we  should  suffer  nearly  as  much  as  if  the  dream  were  true,  and 
should  dread  going  to  sleep,  as  we  now  dread  to  wake,  from  the  fear 
of  really  falling  into  such  misfortunes.  In  truth,  these  dreams  would 
cause  nearly  as  much  suffering  as  the  reality.  But  because  dreams 
are  very  various  and  unlike  each  other,  what  we  see  in  them  affects 
us  much  less  than  what  we  see  in  our  waking  hours,  on  account  of 
the  continuity  of  events  when  we  are  awake ;  this  continuity,  however, 
is  not  so  fixed  and  constant  as  to  be  wholly  free  from  change,  though 
the  scenes  shift  less  suddenly  and  less  frequently.  Life  is  only  a 
rather  more  constant  dream." 


ESSAYS   AND    REVIEWS: 

THE   OXFORD   CLERGYMEN'S   ATTACK   ON   CHRISTIANITY. 

FROM    THE    NORTH    AMERICAN    REVIEW    FOR    JANUARY,    1861. 

THE  publication  of  "  Essays  and  Reviews  "  is  a  strange  and 
even  a  startling  event.  But  it  is  startling  not  so  much  from 
the  nature  of  its  contents,  as  from  the  character  and  position 
of  its  authors.  Certainly  there  is  nothing  new  or  deserving 
of  especial  notice,  either  in  a  studied  attack  upon  the  author- 
ity and  truthfulness  of  large  portions  of  the  Bible,  or  in  a 
scornful  depreciation  of  the  Evidences,  and  a  denial  of  many  of 
the  fundamental  doctrines,  of  Christianity  ;  or  in  a  bold  and 
dogmatic  assertion  that  any  supernatural  event  whatever,  and 
therefore  any  special  and  immediate  revelation  of  God  to  man, 
is,  in  the  present  state  of  science,  essentially  incredible,  what- 
ever may  be  the  amount  of  apparent  testimony  in  its  favor. 
All  this  has  been  dinned  into  our  ears  so  often  that  we  have 
ceased  to  wonder,  though  not  to  grieve,  at  its  repetition.  And 
the  argument  lias  as  little  originality  as  the  doctrine.  There 
is  little  or  nothing  in  this  volume  which  is  not  already  familiar 
to  those  who  are  acquainted  with  the  writings  of  the  English 
Deists  of  the  last  century,  with  the  speculations  of  Hume  and 
the  later  German  metaphysicians,  and  with  the  doctrines  of 
those  physicists,  belonging  to  the  school  of  Comte,  who  have 
attempted  to  limit  the  study  of  nature  to  an  observation  of  the 
laws  of  phenomena,  rigidly  excluding  all  inquiries  into  their 
efficient  or  final  cause  as  unscientific  and  useless. 

But  if  not  entirely  unprepared  to  hear  these  sceptical  argu- 
ments and  sceptical  conclusions  repeated  by  clergymen,  we  did 
not  expect  their  revival  at  the  seat  of  orthodoxy  by  dignitaries 
of  the  English  Church  and  officials  of  high  standing  in  the 
University  of  Oxford.  The  title-page,  with  studied  brevity 


422  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS  : 

and  reticence,  contains  only  these  words,  "Essays  and  Re- 
views," with  the  usual  imprint  by  the  publisher.  But  from 
the  table  of  contents  and  from  other  sources,  we  learn  that,  of 
the  seven  writers  in  the  volume,  two  are  Professors  at  Oxford, 
and  three  others  are,  or  have  recently  been  Fellows  and  Tutors 
at  that  ancient  University,  one  of  them  being  a  chaplain  in 
ordinary  to  the  Queen  and  a  successor  of  Dr.  Arnold  as  head- 
master of  Rugby  School.  A  sixth,  Dr.  Williams,  now  vice- 
principal  and  Professor  at  St.  David's  College,  was  recently 
Fellow  and  Tutor  of  King's  College  at  Cambridge.  Of  the 
seventh,  Mr.  Goodwin,  we  know  nothing  except  that  he  is  a 
graduate  of  Cambridge,  and  was  recently  a  Fellow  in  one  of  its 
colleges.  All  but  one  are  clergymen,  and  most  of  them  hold 
benefices  in  the  English  Church.  [One  of  them,  Dr.  Temple, 
is  now  (1880)  a  bishop  in  the  English  Clmi'ch.]  A  prefatory 
note  contains  the  usual  caution  in  the  case  of  a  joint  publica- 
tion, that  the  authors  "  are  responsible  for  their  respective  arti- 
cles only,"  and  that  they  have  written  without  concert  or  com- 
parison. No  one  will  desire  to  push  the  responsibility  beyond 
the  limit  here  indicated ;  but  in  this  instance,  as  in  the  more 
famous  one  of  the  "  Tracts  for  the  Times,"  those  who  have 
joined  in  writing  a  series  of  articles  upon  the  same  general  sub- 
ject, to  be  published  together  as  one  work,  must  be  presumed 
to  harmonize  with  one  another,  in  the  main,  in  their  opinions 
and  purposes.  This  presumption  is  borne  out  by  the  contents 
of  the  several  essays  when  examined  separately.  Each  has  its 
peculiarities,  but  there  is  a  general  agreement  among  them  in 
the  purport  and  tendency  of  the  doctrines  which  they  teach. 
In  short,  the  book  must  be  regarded  as  the  manifesto  of  a 
new  school  in  philosophy  and  theology,  which  lias  sprung  up 
chiefly  at  Oxford,  though  it  finds  adherents  at  Cambridge  also, 
and  which  probably  owes  its  origin  to  a  reaction  against  the 
famous  "  Tracts,"  as  it  certainly  rivals  them  in  hardihood. 

We  gladly  admit,  in  the  first  place,  that  the  tone  of  these 
Essays  is,  generally,  unexceptionable  in  point  of  taste  and  de- 
corum. The  doctrines  which  they  controvert  are  treated  with 
decency  and  respect.  Scoffs  and  jeers  are  left  for  those  who 
relish  such  condiments  of  controversy,  and  who  cannot  respect 
the  feelings,  the  honest  prejudices,  it  may  be,  of  their  oppo- 


THE    OXFORD    CLERGYMEN'S   ATTACK   ON   CHRISTIANITY.      423 

nents.  At  any  rate,  if  the  weapons  of  ridicule  and  sarcasm  are 
ever  wielded,  they  are  directed  where  their  use  is  legitimate, 
—  not  against  the  main  opinions  which  are  assailed,  but  against 
the  weak  or  sophistical  arguments,  or  what  are  supposed  to  be 
such,  that  have  been  adduced  in  their  support.  We  find  once 
in  a  while  a  gibe  at  the  Evidences  of  Christianity,  but  never  at 
Christianity  itself.  This  decorum  we  hope  to  imitate,  by  speak- 
ing with  perfect  freedom  of  the  doctrines  maintained  in  this 
volume,  but  with  entire  respect  of  its  authors.  Their  conduct 
even  in  continuing  to  wear  the  robes  and  perform  the  functions 
of  English  clergymen  demands  to  be  treated  with  leniency  ; 
the  attempt  to  play  the  casuist  upon  such  a  point  is  one  that 
carries  its  own  punishment  along  with  it,  and  needs  no  sharp 
reproof  from  others. 

One  of  the  evils  inseparable  from  the  institution  of  the  Chris- 
tian ministry  as  a  distinct  profession,  and  from  the  course  of 
studies  which  is  the  necessary  intellectual  preparation  for  it,  is, 
that  it  sometimes  leads  the  neophyte  to  sceptical  opinions. 
Especially  is  this  the  case  in  England,  where  the  Church, 
viewed  in  its  relations  to  the  state,  in  its  hierarchy,  its  system 
of  patronage,  and  its  large  endowments,  is  a  great  political 
institution,  which  maintains  its  Holy  Orders  to  some  extent  as 
indelible,  which  consequently  prohibits  those  who  enter  its  ser- 
vice from  casting  any  look  behind  them,  but  which  is  still 
bound  to  uphold  at  least  the  appearance  of  free  thought  and 
inquiry  as  one  of  the  leading  principles  of  Protestantism,  and 
as  a  part  of  the  inalienable  birthright  of  Englishmen.  It  is  a 
part  of  the  original  perversity,  if  not  of  human  nature  in  gen- 
eral, at  least  of  many  sensitive  and  delicate  minds,  that  they 
no  sooner  see  the  great  doors  close  behind  them  which  cut  off 
all  retreat,  than  they  are  immediately  tempted  to  quarrel  with 
the  discipline  and  arrangements  of  their  new  home.  Egress 
is  still  possible,  it  is  true,  but  only  at  a  sacrifice  of  immediate 
welfare  and  long-cherished  purposes,  from  which  they  shrink 
even  with  greater  dislike  than  from  the  obligatory  performance 
of  their  newly  imposed  functions.  The  teachings  of  their  new 
mother  become  distasteful  just  as  soon  as  she  claims  authority 
over  them,  and  a  right  to  determine  their  opinions  and  dispose 
of  their  time.  If  an  earnest  and  heartfelt  attachment  to  the 


424  ESSAYS  AXD   REVIEWS  : 

peculiar  duties  of  their  new  position  had  always  preceded  the 
assumption  of  them,  such  mental  revolt  would  be  less  frequent 
and  less  serious.  But  the  Church  offers  a  profession,  a  career 
in  life,  a  subsistence,  such  as  is  offered  by  any  of  the  other  vo- 
cations to  which  educated  men  may  turn ;  and  thus  men  are 
tempted  into  it  from  a  mixture  of  motives,  just  as  many 
enter  into  matrimony,  with  a  hope  that  love  will  come  at  least 
after  the  indissoluble  knot  is  tied.  Of  course,  this  hope  is  not 
always  realized  ;  and  then  they  quarrel  with  the  knot  rather 
than  with  the  spouse. 

To  minds  of  such  a  cast,  and  in  such  a  state,  the  study  of 
theology  is  apt  to  be  rather  injurious  than  beneficial.  What 
they  most  need  is  a  discipline  of  the  heart  and  the  affections, 
rather  than  of  the  intellect.  The  mind  is  in  a  morbid  state 
of  revolt  against  the  new  duties  that  have  been  laid  upon  it, 
and  seeks  occasion  to  question  and  controvert  the  authority 
that  imposes  them.  Inquiry  is  begun  with  a  bias  in  the  wrong 
direction,  with  a  predisposition  rather  to  find  or  invent  diffi- 
culties than  to  clear  them  away,  and  thus  to  justify  the  com- 
plaining and  rebellious  spirit  in  which  the  student  commences 
his  work.  Too  many  enter  upon  a  course  of  theological  study 
in  such  a  temper  that  scepticism  is  already  with  them  a  fore- 
gone conclusion.  The  inquiry  is  made  to  turn  on  some  of  the 
dark  questions  of  metaphysics,  or  on  the  quibbles  which  may 
be  raised  against  any  point  of  history,  whether  sacred  or  pro- 
fane, by  those  who  will  accept  no  proof  but  that  of  demonstra- 
tion. The  study  of  the  Evidences  is  peevishly  rejected,  because 
the  mind  is  really  incapable  of  reasoning,  and  closed  against 
conviction.  The  only  effective  medicine  for  such  a  perverted 
state  of  the  intellect  would  be,  to  give  up  the  study  of  theology 
altogether,  or  to  postpone  it  till,  by  the  practical  exercises  and 
duties  of  religion,  the  heart  may  be  won  back  to  the  sacimed 
profession,  and  the  labor  be  resumed  only  when  it  has  become 
a  labor  of  love.  To  the  theological  student,  far  more  frequently 
than  to  any  other  person,  the  question  respecting  any  form  of 
doctrine  seems  to  concern  its  truth  alone.  He  asks  only,  "  Is 
it  true  ?  "  Others  ask,  "  Is  it  fitting,  instructive,  consolatory, 
or  elevating  ?  Does  it  harmonize  with  my  conscience  in  re- 
proving me  of  sin,  or  does  it  aid  me  in  striving  after  holi- 


THE   OXFORD   CLERGYMEN'S   ATTACK   ON   CHRISTIANITY.      425 

ness?"  He  judges  the  doctrine  by  its  antecedent  evidence, 
as  a  matter  of  science  ;  they  try  it  by  its  results,  as  a  matter 
of  life  and  conduct.  The  worst  result  of  the  inquiry,  in  the 
former  case,  is  scepticism ;  in  the  other,  it  is  only  neglect  or 
indifference. 

Of  course,  we  do  not  mean  that  the  systematic  study  of 
theology  is  generally  harmful,  but  only  that  it  will  do  more 
hurra  than  good  to  those  who  have  previously  quarrelled  with 
their  religious  profession.  However  it  may  be  accounted  for, 
the  fact  itself  hardly  admits  of  question,  that,  in  proportion  to 
their  respective  numbers,  there  is  more  scepticism  among  the 
clergy  than  among  the  laity.  Hence,  the  ministrations  of  the 
Church  do  not  effect  half  as  much  good  as  they  would  other- 
wise accomplish  in  the  world  at  large.  Affliction,  anxiety, 
or  remorse  stirs  and  softens  the  religious  affections,  and  begets 
a  craving  for  sympathy,  counsel,  and  support.  The  most  im- 
portant office  of  a  Christian  pastor  is,  to  minister  to  minds  in 
such  a  state.  But  what  aid  or  consolation  can  he  bring,  whose 
own  faith  has  been  previously  shaken  or  perverted  ?  How 
can  he  offer  or  counsel  prayer,  who  does  not  believe  in  its 
efficacy,  or  thinks  that  its  power  is  exhausted  upon  the  mind 
of  the  utterer,  and  that  it  is  not  heard  and  answered  in 
heaven  ?  How  can  he  urge  resignation  under  calamity  as  a, 
duty  of  submission  to  God,  when  he  believes  in  the  fatalistic 
succession  of  all  events  under  physical  laws,  and  consequently 
rejects,  as  essentially  incredible,  the  doctrine  of  Divine  inter- 
position ?  How  can  he  aid  in  robbing  death  of  its  terrors, 
who  does  not  believe  in  immortality,  except  in  some  incompre- 
hensible phase  of  the  reunion  of  the  finite  with  the  infinite, 
or  who  maintains  that  eternity  hereafter  means  only  eternity 
here  and  now  ?  Yet  such  are  the  cold  and  vague  speculations 
which  the  clerical  writers  of  this  book  would  substitute  for 
the  vital  doctrines  of  Christianity.  Among  the  other  criteria 
of  theological  opinions,  why  did  they  never  think  of  applying 
this  practical  test,  —  How  will  my  version  of  the  dogma  work 
as  a  means  of  elevating  the  faith  and  purifying  the  lives  of  the 
people  of  my  own  parish  ? 

The  first  Essay  in  the  volume,  on  "  The  Education  of  the 
World,"  is  one  of  those  fanciful  exercises  of  the  intellect 


426  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS  : 

which  consist  rather  in  playing  with  a  metaphor,  or  hunting 
a  similitude  to  death,  than  in  the  sober  and  conscientious 
evolution  of  a  truth.1  All  those  points  in  regard  to  which 
the  parallel  holds  are  brought  into  prominent  and  even  ex- 
aggerated relief,  while  those  on  which  it  fails,  generally  more 
numerous,  are  either  explained  away  to  the  perversion  of  the 
truth,  or  are  kept  altogether  out  of  sight.  Such  speculations 
are  seldom  more  than  half  true  ;  and  half-truths,  because  more 
insidious,  do  greater  harm  than  whole  falsehoods.  Dr.  Tem- 
ple, borrowing  his  whole  doctrine  from  Lessing,  begins  by 
assuming,  that,  as  each  generation  of  men  inherits  the  knowl- 
edge, and  enters  into  possession  of  the  works,  of  its  prede- 
cessor, the  whole  human  race  is  in  fact  "  a  colossal  man, 
whose  life  reaches  from  the  creation  to  the  day  of  judgment." 
This  is  a  very  pretty  idea  to  play  with,  and  the  fancy  is  in- 
geniously carried  out  with  a  careful  selection  of  such  facts  of 
history,  and  such  only,  as  can,  with  a  little  paring  and  shap- 
ing, be  dovetailed  into  it.  The  successive  generations  of  men 
"  are  days  in  this  man's  life  ;  "  the  discoveries  and  inventions 
of  all  time  "  are  his  works  ;  "  the  successive  states  of  society 
"are  his  manners;  "  and,  what  is  most  important,  "  the  creeds 
and  doctrines,  the  opinions  and  principles  of  the  successive 
ages,  are  his  thoughts."  Sometimes,  the  writer's  eagerness  to 
carry  out  the  similitude  tempts  him  to  make  rather  hazardous 
assertions,  as  when  he  tells  us  that  this  hypothetical  aggre- 
gate man  "  grows  in  knowledge,  in  self-control,  in  visible  size, 
just  as  we  do"  We  had  supposed  that  the  facts  tended  rather 
to  support  the  popular  belief,  which  the  poets  also  share,  that 
the  generations  of  men  degenerate  in  strength  and  stature. 
The  Head-Master  of  Rugby  School,  of  course,  remembers  the 
husbandman,  who,  as  Virgil  predicts,  — 

"  Aut  pravibus  rastris  galeas  pulsabit  inanes, 
Grandiaque  effossis  mirabitur  ossa  sepulchris." 

Modern  Frenchmen  appear  remarkably  puny  when  we  read 
about  the  tall  and  athletic  Gauls  and  Franks  from  whom  they 

1  It  oimlit  in  fairness  to  be  mentioned,  that  Dr.  Frederick  Temple,  the  author 
of  this  Kssay,  when  he  was  appointed  Bishop  of  Exeter,  in  1869,  though  he  did 
not  expressly  renounce  and  recant  the  opinions  here  maintained,  did  withdraw 
the  Essay  from  publication,  on  the  ground,  so  far  as  I  remember,  that  it  was  lia- 
ble to  be  misunderstood  aud  to  give  offence.  • 


THE   OXFORD   CLERGYMEN'S   ATTACK   ON   CHRISTIANITY.      427 

are  descended  ;  and  soldiers  of  our  own  day,  encased  in  the 
bulky  and  weighty  armor  worn  by  mediaeval  knights,  would  be 
about  as  efficient  on  the  battle-field  or  the  parade-ground  as 
Goose  Gibbie  was,  when  half  smothered  and  blinded  in  the  big 
helmet. 

Following  out  the  same  train  of  fanciful  speculation,  we 
learn  that  each  of  the  great  races  that  have  inhabited  the  earth 
had  a  distinct  part  to  play  in  the  education  of  the  "  monster- 
man,"  who  acknowledges  Dr.  Temple  as  his  Frankenstein. 
"  Thus,  the  Hebrews  may  be  said  to  have  disciplined  the  hu- 
man conscience,  Rome  the  human  will,  Greece  the  reason  and 
taste,  Asia  the  spiritual  imagination."  Has  Dr.  Temple  for- 
gotten Egypt  ?  or  does  he  consider  the  invention  of  the  art  of 
writing  a  step  of  no  importance  in  the  education  of  his  com- 
posite man  ?  Greece  certainly  imported  an  alphabet,  and  the 
rudiments  both  of  her  art  and  her  philosophy,  from  the  East. 
No  account  is  here  taken  of  the  Goths,  and  other  barbaric 
races  that  issued  from  the  hive  of  the  populous  North,  though 
perhaps  the  character  of  the  modern  European  owes  more  to 
them  than  to  Greek  art  or  Roman  polity.  A  ripe  scholar  may 
be  excused  for  forgetting,  or  contemptuously  passing  over, 
about  three  fourths  of  the  human  race,  who  are  now,  in  al- 
most every  respect,  precisely  what  they  would  have  been  if 
Greece  and  Italy  had  subsided,  as  the  geologists  say,  into  the 
Mediterranean  three  thousand  years  ago.  China  is  a  consider- 
able nation,  at  least  in  point  of  numbers  ;  while  the  Buddhists 
form  no  inconsiderable  fraction  of  the  colossal  modern  man. 
Even  Africa  must  be  taken  into  account,  unless  our  author  is 
one  of  those  speculatists  who  maintain  that  a  negro  is  not  a 
man.  As  for  the  Hebrews  disciplining  the  conscience  of  the 
nations  farther  East,  one  of  the  writers  in  this  very  volume 
maintains  that  the  Jews  were  indebted  to  the  Babylonians 
even  for  the  doctrine  of  the  immortality  of  the  soul. 

But  it  would  be  a  waste  of  time  and  labor  to  pick  utterly  to 
pieces  a  slight  essay,  which  seems  to  have  been  prepared  as  an 
exercise  of  the  fancy,  rather  than  of  the  intellect,  if  the  author 
had  not  made  it  a  vehicle  for  insinuating  his  grave  opinions 
upon  a  theological  subject  of  the  highest  importance.  The 
only  serious  purpose  which  we  can  discover  in  this  treatise  13 


428  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS  : 

to  teach  the  important  fact — important,  if  true  —  that  the 
world  has  already  outgrown  Christianity.  As  already  stated, 
"the  creeds  and  doctrines  "  of  successive  ages  are  represented 
as  "  the  thoughts  "  of  the  monster-man,  who  "  grows  in  knowl- 
edge and  self-control,"  as  he  undergoes  an  education  "  pre- 
cisely similar  to  ours."  There  are  three  stages  in  this  train- 
ing, corresponding  to  Childhood,  Youth,  and  Maturity.  In 
the  first  of  these,  we  are  subject  to  Law,  —  "  to  positive  rules, 
which  we  cannot  understand,  but  are  bound  implicitly  to 
obey."  This  answers  to  the  system  of  Moses,  and  was  the 
education  of  the  Hebrew  race.  Commands  of  grave  and 
trifling  import  are  all  mingled  together,  clear  but  peremptory 
in  tone,  regulating  even  the  minutest  particulars  of  food  and 
dress.  "  But  the  reason  for  the  minute  commands  is  never 
given;"  the  people  hear  only  the  solemn  announcement, 
"  Thus  saith  the  Lord."  Other  nations  also  had  a  training 
parallel  to  the  Jewish,  through  their  respective  systems  of 
natural  religion.  These  "were  all  in  reality  systems  of  Law, 
given  also  by  God,  though  not  given  by  revelation,"  and  after- 
wards so  distorted  as  to  lose  nearly  all  trace  of  their  divine 
origin.  Such,  in  fact,  is  the  necessary  discipline  of  Childhood, 
whether  of  the  individual  or  of  the  race. 

Then  Youth  comes  fiery  and  impetuous,  breaking  loose  from 
all  rules,  and  refusing  to  be  guided  except  by  Example.  "  He 
needs  to  see  virtue  in  the  concrete."  "  He  repeats  opinions 
without  really  understanding  them ; "  and  when  seemingly 
most  independent  and  defiant  of  external  guidance,  he  is 
really,  only  so  much  the  more,  guided  and  formed  by  the  ex- 
ample and  sympathy  of  others.  And  such  an  Example  for 
the  guidance  of  humanity,  in  its  youth,  was  set  forth  in  the 
Gospel.  "  The  second  stage  for  the  education  of  man  was  the 
presence  of  our  Lord  upon  earth." 

Fortunate  was  it  for  the  world,  according  to  Dr.  Temple, 
that  His  coming  was  not  delayed  till  now  ;  "  for  the  faculty  of 
Faith  has  turned  inwards,  and  cannot  now  accept  any  outer 
manifestations  of  the  truth  of  God."  The  third  period  of  his- 
tory, the  Manhood  of  the  race,  with  its  largely  developed  pow- 
ers and  responsibilities,  has  come.  The  age  of  maturity  and 
reflection  has  begun.  We  cannot  now  accept,  either  Law  from 


THE    OXFORD   CLERGYMEN'S   ATTACK    ON    CHRISTIANITY.      429 

the  Old  Testament,  or  an  Example  from  the  New.  The  spirit 
or  conscience  has  assumed  its  dominion,  and  "as  an  accredited 
judge,  invested  with  full  powers,  decides  upon  the  past  and 
legislates  upon  the  future,  without  appeal  except  to  himself." 
"  If  we  have  lost  that  freshness  of  faith  which  would  be  the 
first  to  say  to  a  poor  carpenter,  '  Thou  art  the  Christ,  the  Son 
of  the  Living  God,'  — yet  we  possess,  in  the  greater  cultivation 
of  our  religious  understanding,  that  ichieh,  perhaps,  we  ought 
not  to  be  ivilling  to  give  in  exchange"  The  concluding  sentence 
of  the  Essay  contains  -the  emphatic  statement,  that  "  we  are 
now  men,  governed  by  principles,  if  governed  at  all,  and  can- 
not rely  any  longer  on  the  impulses  of  youth  or  the  discipline 
of  childhood." 

Evidently  this  doctrine  is  only  a  modification  of  the  Posi- 
tive Philosophy  of  Comte,  and  was  probably  suggested  by  it. 
Comte  teaches  us,  that  there  are  three  natural  and  necessary 
stages  in  the  development  both  of  the  individual  and  of  the 
race.  In  the  earliest  period,  we  attribute  all  movements  and 
other  phenomena  to  unseen  personal  agencies,  that  is,  to 
Deities  ;  we  are  then  theologians,  and  believe  in  the  supernat- 
ural. Next  comes  the  vigorous  but  lawless  condition,  when 
we  substitute  abstractions,  or  what  are  called  "  the  forces  of 
nature,"  in  the  place  of  imaginary  Deities  existing  beyond  or 
above  nature.  This  is  the  metaphysical  stage,  which  confounds 
imaginary  conceptions  with  realities,  or  substitutes  names  for 
things.  At  last,  the  mature  age  of  Positive  Science  arrives, 
when,  to  say  the  truth,  we  believe  in  nothing,  neither  in  Deities 
nor  in  abstract  forces,  but  accept  the  phenomena  only,  and 
content  ourselves  with  describing  and  classifying  them,  all 
attempts  to  discover  their  causes  being  renounced  as  a  hope- 
less undertaking.  Dr.  Temple's  theory  is  a  modified  form  of 
Positivism,  and,  we  think,  an  improvement  upon  it.  He  car- 
ries forward  theological  belief  from  the  first  into  the  second 
stage,  and  even  makes  the  religious  discipline  of  Youth  more 
impressive  and  affecting  than  that  of  Childhood.  But  the  third 
period  is  equally  destructive  of  faith  in  the  supernatural  on 
either  theory.  At  this  epoch,  says  Dr.  Temple,  borrowing 
almost  exactly  the  language  of  Comte,  man  "  learns  not  to 
attempt  the  solution  of  insoluble  problems,  and  to  have  no 


430  ESSAYS   AND    REVIEWS: 

opinion  at  all  on  many  points  of  the  deepest  interest."  Ex- 
ternal revelation,  even  if  it  could  be  believed  in,  would  no 
longer  have  any  binding  power ;  the  only  law  which  we  can 
accept  is  "  a  law  which  is  not  imposed  upon  us  by  another 
power,  but  by  our  own  enlightened  will." 

An  answer  is  hardly  needed  to  sophistry  so  transparent. 
The  law  is  first  given  in  its  simple  or  peremptory  form,  be- 
cause, even  if  reasons  were  annexed,  a  child's  intellect  could 
not  understand  them.  The  subsequent  development  of  the 
understanding,  which  leads  to  a  recognition  of  the  intrinsic 
beauty  and  righteousness  of  the  precept,  does  not  thereby 
abrogate  it,  but  only  increases  its  obligation.  The  Gospel  did 
not  annul  the  law.  Christ  himself  says,  "  Think  not  that  I 
am  come  to  destroy  the  law  or  the  prophets ;  I  am  not  come  to 
destroy,  but  to  fulfil."  The  Jews  were  at  first  peremptorily 
commanded  to  abstain  from  idolatry,  —  reasons  for  this  prohi- 
bition being  unsuited  to  their  understandings,  and  insufficient 
to  break  the  force  of  their  own  early  habits,  and  the  example 
of  surrounding  nations.  But  certainly  the  obligation  of  this 
law  did  not  cease  when  the  Jews  became  enlightened  enough 
to  recognize  the  folly  and  wickedness  of  worshipping  sticks 
and  stones,  and  were  thereby  thoroughly  weaned  from  the 
practice.  Only  to  the  Gentile  converts  (Acts  xv.  19,  20)  did 
the  Apostles  need  to  write,  "  that  they  abstain  from  pollutions 
of  idols ;  "  and  for  them,  as  well  as  for  the  Hebrews,  the  spirit 
of  the  injunction  was  carried  farther,  by  commanding  them  to 
abstain  even  from  meats  offered  to  idols,  and  from  "  covetous- 
ness,  which  is  idolatry."  Here,  as  in  other  cases,  the  spirit 
of  the  law  is  not  abrogated,  but  is  made  still  more  compre- 
hensive, even  when  there  is  some  relaxation  of  the  outward 
form.  Our  Saviour  did  not  repeal  the  Decalogue,  but  repeated 
it  and  forcibly  summed  up  its  spirit  in  two  broad  injunctions, 
rightly  adding,  "  On  these  two  commandments  hang  all  the 
law  and  the  prophets."  It  was  only  carrying  out  the  same 
method  to  substitute  prayer  for  sacrifice,  giving  alms  to  the 
poor  for  offering  gifts  in  the  temple,  and  observing  the  Lord's 
day  in  place  of  the  Jewish  Sabbath  ;  for  the  same  spirit  of 
heartfelt  adoration  of  the  Giver  of  all  good,  and  of  self-denial 
and  beneficence,  lies  at  the  bottom  of  all  these  commands. 


THE   OXFORD   CLERGYMEN'S   ATTACK   ON   CHRISTIANITY.      431 

Least  of  all  does  maturity  of  age  and  intellect  supersede 
the  necessity  of  an  external  revelation  in  the  sense  of  render- 
ing man  independent  of  it,  of  doing  away  with  its  injunc- 
tions, or  of  substituting  the  promptings  of  his  own  heart  and 
conscience  for  a  message  from  on  high.  The  sinless  Example  is 
still  placed  before  us,  not  indeed  in  the  flesh,  but  in  the  record 
of  his  life,  death,  and  resurrection.  If,  as  Dr.  Temple  thinks, 
we  could  not  now  recognize  the  Saviour's  claims,  even  if  he 
should  appear  again  on  the  earth,  and  again,  before  our  own 
eyes,  waken  a  Lazarus  out  of  his  sleep,  then  we  cannot  acknowl- 
edge that  he  ever  did  come  in  the  flesh,  or  that  the  grave,  at  his 
bidding,  ever  gave  up  its  dead.  If  that  "  greater  cultivation 
of  our  religious  understanding,"  which  this  Essayist  would 
have  us  believe  is  of  more  worth  than  faith  in  the  Son  of  God, 
has  been  the  natural  result  of  man's  own  efforts  continued  for 
centuries,  then  an  external  revelation  was  never  needed,  and 
we  cannot  believe  that  one  has  ever  taken  place.  But  if  this 
cultivation,  this  refinement  of  our  religious  perceptions,  has 
been  brought  about  only  by  the  study  of  the  Gospel,  and  by 
the  deeper  insight  into  its  meaning  which  the  experience  of 
many  generations  and  the  enlarged  culture  of  modern  times 
are  competent  to  give,  then  this  very  improvement  is  a  new 
proof  of  the  Divinity  of  the  Christian  revelation  and  the  au- 
thenticity of  its  record. 

But  after  all,  even  in  Dr.  Temple's  own  opinion,  when  he 
seriously  reflects  upon  the  matter,  how  large  a  portion  of  man- 
kind, at  the  present  day,  have  actually  outgrown  Christianity  ? 
Are  missions  to  the  heathen  no  longer  needed,  because  even 
the  heathen  of  our  own  time,  standing  upon  the  shoulders  of 
all  the  generations  that  have  preceded  them,  are  so  enlight- 
ened and  refined  in  their  notions  of  natural  theology  that  the 
Gospel  would  be  no  boon  to  them  ?  Even  among  the  nations 
of  Christendom,  how  many,  both  in  understanding  and  in  con- 
duct, have  already  got  beyond  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  ? 
Do  even  the  English  agricultural  and  manufacturing  classes 

O  O  £3 

no  longer  need  religious  instruction,  because  they  have  at  last 
become  a  perfect  law  unto  themselves  ?  We  would  not  ask 
these  questions  by  way  of  taunt,  being  well  aware  that  Dr. 
Temple's  answer  to  them  would  assuredly  be  the  same  as  our 


482  ESSAYS   AND    REVIEWS: 

own.  But  they  may  serve  to  open  his  eyes  to  the  illusion, 
natural  enough,  perhaps,  for  a  recluse  student,  but  still  gross, 
which  makes  one  man  fancy  himself  empowered  to  speak  for 
all  mankind,  and  to  pronounce  that  the  Gospel  is  obsolete  for 
the  whole  race,  because  half  a  dozen  scholars  at  Oxford  and 
Cambridge  think  that  they  have  outgrown  Christianity. 

The  next  Essayist,  Dr.  Williams,  takes  "  Bunsen's  Biblical 
Researches  "  for  his  theme,  and  thus  shelters  himself,  in  part, 
behind  the  authority  of  a  great  German  scholar  and  diplomat- 
ist. He  cautiously  informs  us  in  the  outset,  that  "  the  sympa- 
thy which  justifies  respectful  exposition  need  not  imply  entire 
agreement."  Perfect  candor  and  frankness,  however,  would 
seem  to  require  that  the  precise  limits  of  agreement  and  dis- 
sent should  be  marked  out  by  an  expositor  who  eulogizes  both 
the  doctrine  and  the  author  that  he  expounds  so  warmly,  that 
his  enthusiasm  cannot  find  strength  of  expression  enough  in 
sober  prose,  but  breaks  out  finally  into  lofty  verse.  There  is 
not  much  poetry  in  the  two  stanzas  which  are  appended  to 
Dr.  Williams's  article  ;  but  they  indicate  clearly  enough  what 
qualities  of  Bunsen's  writings  and  opinions  have  excited  the 
writer's  special  admiration. 

Every  scholar  will  speak  with  entire  respect  of  Bunsen's  vast 
erudition,  his  indefatigable  activity,  and  the  earnest  religious 
feeling,  at  times  assuming  the  garb  of  pietistic  mysticism,  with 
which  many  of  his  writings  are  tinged.  But  a  more  rash  and 
unsafe  guide,  in  any  province  of  speculative  inquiry  which  re- 
quires the  exercise  of  sober  judgment  and  vigorous  common- 
sense,  could  hardly  be  found,  even  in  Germany.  He  is  a  wild 
and  fanciful  theorist  in  archaeology,  philosophy,  and  theology, 
whose  conclusions  have  ceased  to  startle  and  perplex  only  be- 
cause sober  inquirers  are  prepared  for  them  beforehand,  and 
pass  them  over  with  charitable  indifference.  His  books  are  an 
infliction  on  human  patience,  both  in  their  voluminousness,  and 
the  entire  want  of  method,  symmetry,  and  continuity  in  their 
contents.  But  thev  generally  contain  a  mine  of  valuable  ma- 
terials, which  sober  investigators  can  work  to  profit,  and  digest 
into  system.  Wherever  great  learning  is  not  needed  as  the 
handmaid  of  reason,  because  the  subject  of  inquiry  lies  not  far 
off  in  the  dim  past,  but  comes  home  directly  to  the  common 


THE   OXFORD    CLERGYMEN'S   ATTACK    ON   CHRISTIANITY.      433 

understanding,  Bunsen's  opinions  have  no  peculiar  weight  or 
claim  to  deference.  As  an  expositor  of  the  doctrines  of  Chris- 
tianity, certainly,  he  is  not  likely  to  find  many  English  or 
American  disciples  besides  Dr.  Williams. 

It  is  admitted,  in  this  Essay,  that  the  "  recognition  of  Christ 
as  the  moral  Saviour  of  mankind,"  whereby  is  meant  the  de- 
velopment by  him  of  "  that  religious  idea  which  is  the  thought 
of  the  Eternal,"  may  seem  to  some  "  Baron  Bunsen's  most 
obvious  claim  to  the  name  of  Christian."  We  are  not  ac- 
countable for  the  perspicuity  of  this  remark  ;  and  the  saga- 
cious render  may  already  have  cause  to  suspect,  that  the  Ger- 
man diplomatist's  cloudiness  of  thought  will  not  be  dissipated 
to  any  great  extent  by  his  English  expositor's  clearness  of  ex- 
pression. But  the  general  meaning  of  the  admission  seems 
to  be,  that  many  Christian  doctrines,  as  expounded  by  Bunsen, 
will  seem  to  common  observers  not  to  bear  any  distinct  traces 
of  their  Christian  origin.  This  we  can  well  believe,  when  fur- 
ther informed  that,  "  by  Resurrection,"  Bunsen  would  mean 
"  a  spiritual  quickening ;  "  and  that  "  the  eternal  is  what  be- 
longs to  God  as  spirit,  therefore  the  negation  of  things  finite 
and  unspiritual,  whether  world,  or  letter,  or  rite  of  blood." 
The  hateful  fires  of  Gehenna  "  may  serve  as  images  of  dis- 
tracted remorse;"  and  heaven  is  "not  a  place,  so  much  as 
fulfilment  of  the  love  of  God."  Already  the  doctrine  of  an- 
other life  and  a  final  retribution  beyond  the  grave  seems  to  be 
pretty  effectually  refined  and  spiritualized  away.  But  that  no 
doubt  may  remain  on  the  point,  we  are  further  informed  that 
"both  spiritual  affection  and  metaphysical  reasoning  forbid 
us  to  confine  revelations,  like  those  of  Christ,  to  the  first  half- 
century  of  our  era;"  and  that  the  external  evidences  of  the 
books  of  the  Xew  Testament  are  u  sufficient  to  prove  illustra- 
tion in  outward  act  of  principles  perpetually  true,  but  not 
adequate  to  guarantee  narratives  inherently  incredible,  or  pre- 
cepts evidently  wrong."  Here  is  a  lack  of  candor.  Why  does 
not  Dr.  Williams  distinctly  inform  us  what  narratives  in  the 
New  Testament  are  "  inherently  incredible,"  and  what  pre- 
cepts are  "  evidently  wrong?"  Does  he  include  among  the 
former  the  narrative  of  miraculous  events,  even  of  our  Lord's 
resurrection  from  the  dead  ?  lie  has  no  word  of  censure  when 


434  ESSAYS  AND   REVIEWS: 

lie  quotes  Bunsen's  passionate  exclamation,  "How  long  shall 
we  bear  this  fiction  of  an  external  revelation  !  "  though  he  ad- 
mits, "  there  will  be  some  who  think  his  language  too  vehement 
for  good  taste."  But  then  he  will  not  quarrel  "  on  points  of 
taste  with  a  man  who,  in  our  darkest  perplexity,  has  reared 
again  the  banner  of  truth,  and  uttered  thoughts  which  give 
courage  to  the  weak  and  sight  to  the  blind." 

Most  instructive  respecting  the  real  purport  of  Bunsen's 
philosophical  and  theological  opinions  is  his  version  of  the  doc- 
trine of  the  Trinity,  which  his  English  disciple  sets  forth  and 
accepts,  seemingly  without  any  suspicion  of  its  true  paternity. 
Here  we  must  copy  literally. 

"  His  [Bunsen's]  doctrine  of  the  Trinity  ingeniously  avoids  build- 
ing on  texts  which  our  Unitarian  critics,  from  Sir  Isaac  Newton  to 
Gilbert  Wakefield,  have  impugned,  but  is  a  philosophical  rendering  of 
the  first  chapter  of  St.  John's  Gospel.  The  profoundest  analysis  of 
our  world  leaves  the  law  of  thought  as  its  ultimate  basis  and  bond  of 
coherence.  This  thought  is  consubstantial  with  the  Being  of  the 
Eternal  I  AM.  Being,  becoming,  and  animating, —  or  substance, 
thinking,  and.  conscious  life,  are  expressions  of  a  Triad;  which  may  be 
also  represented  as  will,  wisdom,  and  love,  —  as  light,  radiance,  and 
warmth,  —  as  fountain,  stream,  and  united  flow,  —  as  mind,  thought, 
and  consciousness,  —  as  person,  word,  and  life,  —  as  Father,  Son,  and 
Spirit.  In  virtue  of  such  identity  of  Thought  with  Being,  the  primi- 
tive Trinity  represented  neither  three  original  principles,  nor  three 
transient  phases,  but  three  eternal  subsistences  in  one  Divine  Mind. 
'The  unity  of  God,  as  the  eternal  Father,  is  the  fundamental  doctrine 
of  Christianity.'  But  the  divine  Consciousness  or  Wisdom,  consub- 
stantial with  the  Eternal  Will,  becoming  personal  in  the  Son  of  Man, 
is  the  express  image  of  the  Father  ;  and  Jesus  actually,  but  also  man- 
kind ideally,  is  the  Son  of  God." 

"  All  this,"  Dr.  Williams  confesses,  "  has  a  Sabellian,  or  al- 
most a  Brahmanical  sound."  Brahmanical,  indeed  !  Why  it 
is  pure  and  explicit  Hegelianism,  which  our  English  Essayist 
has  been  expounding  and  recommending,  just  as  Moliere's 
Bourgeois  had  all  his  life  talked  prose,  without  knowing  it. 
He  challenges  his  more  orthodox  brethren  in  the  English 

O  O 

Church  to  confute  it  "  even  on  patristic  grounds,"  adopting 
blindly  Bunsen's  rash  assertion,  that   this  doctrine,  or  some- 


THE   OXFORD   CLERGYMEN'S   ATTACK   ON  CHRISTIANITY.      435 

tiling  very  like  it,  may  be  found  in  Justin  Martyr,  Tertullian, 
Hippolytus,  and  Origen  ;  and  he  throws  out  the  significant 
menace,  "  If  our  defenders  of  the  faith  would  have  men  believe 
the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity,  they  had  better  not  forbid  meta- 
physics, nor  even  sneer  at  Realism."  Dr.  Williams  is  evi- 
dently not  aware  of  the  peculiar  adroitness  of  interpretation, 
which  enables  a  practised  Hegelian  to  recognize  the  express 
form  and  likeness  —  the  vera  effigies  —  of  his  much  loved  doc- 
trine everyivhere,  —  not  only  in  the  Bible,  the  Fathers,  and  the 
decrees  of  Councils,  but  in  every  form  of  religion  that  has  ever 
existed  on  earth,  in  every  system  of  philosophy,  and  in  every 
page  of  history.  Only  allow  him  his  boasted  postulates,  that 
Thought  and  Being  are  identical ;  that  whatever  is  Real  is 
Rational,  and  whatever  is  Rational  is  Real ;  and  that  the  first 
principle  of  Logic  and  the  fundamental  law  of  human  thought, 
which  declares  that  two  Contradictories  exclude  each  other,  is 
false,  inasmuch  as  any  two  Contradictories  actually  coalesce 
and  melt  into  one  doctrine  or  being  which  includes  them  both  ; 
—  only  allow  these  modest  demands,  and  he  will  point  out 
Hegelianism  evervwhere  that  he  chooses  to  look  for  it.  In  the 

O  «/ 

passage  which  we  have  just  cited,  every  one  who  has  any  tinct- 
ure of  the  latest  German  philosophy  of  the  Absolute  will  rec- 
ognize at  once  the  characteristics  of  the  Hegelian  logic  and  of 
the  doctrine  evolved  from  it.  It  will  enable  any  Unitarian 
who  pleases  to  become  a  Trinitarian  without  difficulty,  so  that 
he  can  repeat  the  most  orthodox  formulas,  the  Athanasian 
Creed  itself,  without  stammering.  A  triad  exists  wherever 
two  contradictories  or  opposites  can  be  found  ;  for  the  law  of 
trichotomy,  which  is  the  law  absolute,  the  law  of  laws  in  the 
Hegelian  logic,  enables  us  to  take  up  the  two  contradictory 
ideas,  the  thesis  and  the  antithesis,  and  melt  them  into  one  syn- 
thetic notion,  which  includes  them  both.  Thus,  pure  Being, 
as  wholly  indeterminate  or  devoid  of  attributes,  is  identical 
with  its  opposite,  Non-being  or  Nothing.  But  as  creation  con- 
sists in  nothing  becoming  something,  the  third  member  of  the 
triad,  which  reduces  the  two  other  members  to  unity,  is  becom- 
ing, or  determinate  existence.  Now,  as  Thought  and  Reality 
are  identical,  each  being  the  law  and  essence  of  the  other, 
any  one  who  can  tltink  creation  does  thereby  create,  or  be- 


436  ESSAYS   AND  REVIEWS: 

comes  the  Creator.  Hegel's  philosophy  consists  in  finding 
everywhere  unity  under  contradiction,  and  identity  under  dif- 
ference. 

The  application  of  this  system  to  the  leading  dogmas  of 
theology,  to  the  Trinity,  the  Incarnation,  and  the  Atonement, 
may  be  easily  made ;  but  it  leads  to  conclusions  at  once  so 
monstrous  and  so  shocking,  that  we  prefer  not  to  stain  our 
pages  with  them.  Their  general  character  is  darkly  but  suf- 
ficiently indicated  in  the  citation  just  made  from  Dr.  Williams's 
Essay ;  and  a  full  development  of  the  doctrine,  as  applied  to 
all  the  forms  of  religion  that  have  ever  existed  among  man- 
kind, may  be  found  in  Bunsen's  latest  work,  "  God  in  History," 
which  has  supplied  the  Essayist  with  all  his  materials.  It  is 
characteristic  of  this  philosophy,  that,  whether  used  as  a  means 
of  interpreting  Buddhism,  Greek  polytheism,  Hindoo  or  Scan- 
dinavian mythology,  or  Christianity,  it  leads  to  equally  satis- 
factory results.  A  consistent  and  expert  Hegelian  may  repeat 
any  theological  creed,  and  join  in  any  religious  rite.  Differ- 
ences of  faith  are  of  little  moment,  when  they  are  tried  by  a 
system  of  logic  which  was  invented  for  the  express  purpose  of 
reconciling  contradictories.  It  is  curious  that  Bunsen  should 
have  adopted  the  system  just  at  the  time  when,  even  in  Ger- 
many, it  has  become  discredited  and  seems  to  be  rapidly  pass- 
ing away.  After  enjoying  an  unprecedented  success,  after 
coloring  every  form  of  German  speculation  in  philosophy  and 
theology  for  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century,  a  reaction  has 
sprung  up  against  it  on  its  native  soil,  and  appears  to  be  now 
hurrying  it  into  oblivion.  On  English  ground  it  cannot  hope 
to  find  many  proselytes,  though  a  few  scholars  like  Dr.  Will- 
iams may  find  in  it  the  means  of  pacifying  their  scruples  at 
repeating  the  formularies  of  the  Church  and  continuing  their 
implied  assent  to  the  Thirty-nine  Articles. 

Of  the  next  Essay,  on  "  the  Study  of  the  Evidences  of  Chris- 
tianity," we  must  speak  with  the  reserve  which  is  rendered  be- 
coming by  the  recent  death  of  its  author,  the  Rev.  Baden  Pow- 
ell. It  is  in  some  measure  a  repetition  and  a  defence  of  the 
doctrines  avowed  in  a  late  independent  publication,  by  the 
same  writer,  on  "  the  Order  of  Nature."  The  discussion  in 
this  Essay  turns,  not  upon  the  old  question,  whether  a  reve- 


THE   OXFORD   CLERGYMEN'S   ATTACK   ON   CHRISTIANITY.      437 

lotion  can  be  proved  by  miracles,  but  upon  the  far  deeper  and 
more  important  one,  ivhether  Christianity,  regarded  as  a  sys- 
tem of  abstract  relit/ ions  doctrine,  cannot  be  received  on  faith, 
even  by  those  who  deny  loth  the  fact  and  the  possibility  of  any 
external  revelation  whatever. 

This  is  at  once  a  clear  and  a  candid  statement  of  the  real 
point  at  issue.  An  external  revelation  is  itself  a  miracle,  the 
greatest  of  all  miracles.  It  is  a  break  in  the  order  of  nature, 
an  interruption  of  the  ordinary  sequence  of  physical  events, 
made  by  the  Creator  and  Governor  of  the  universe  for  the  ex- 
press purpose  of  declaring  His  will  to  man  in  a  more  distinct 
utterance,  and  a  more  awful  and  impressive  form,  than  would 
be  possible  if  the  ordinary  succession  of  external  phenomena 
remained  unbroken.  The  miraculous  attestation  of  Christ's 
mission  upon  earth,  through  the  mighty  works  which  he  did, 
is  one  thing  ;  the  miraculous  character  of  that  mission  itself, 
the  immediately  divine  origin  both  of  the  message  and  of  him 
who  bore  it,  is  another.  Those  who,  on  the  ground  of  the  es- 
sential incredibility  of  any  interruption  of  the  laws  of  nature, 
deny  the  miracles  that  he  wrought,  are  bound  also  to  deny 
the  miracle  that  he  was.  Even  if  Jesus  of  Nazareth  had  not 
been  "  approved  of  God  among  you  by  miracles,  and  wonders, 
and  signs,  which  God  did  by  him  in  the  midst  of  you,  as  ye 
yourselves  also  know,"  yet  his  mere  appearance  upon  earth, 
it'  he  really  possessed  the  character  and  authority  which  he 
claimed,  —  that  is,  if  he  was  not  an  impostor,  — was  as  great 
a  miracle  as  if  he  had  come  in  the  clouds  of  heaven  openly 
manifesting  all  the  glory  of  the  Father. 

This  is  the  real  bearing  and  extent  of  the  question  as  Pro- 
fessor Powell  has  distinctly  stated  it,  and  he  has  shown  much 
courage  and  frankness  in  so  doing,  and  in  openly  taking  up  his 
own  position  respecting  it  with  all  its  consequences.  One  ob- 
ject of  his  present  Essay  seems  to  be,  to  defend  himself  against 
the  charge  of  going  farther  than  other  Rationalists,  and  thereby 
giving  up  all  that  is  peculiar  to  Christianity.  His  answer  is, 
that  he  has  not  gone  farther  ;  for  the  ground  which  he  has 
taken  is  contained  by  irresistible  implication  in  the  arguments 
and  doctrines  which  they  have  avowed  without  any  special 
censure.  He  says,  and  we  cite  the  passage  as  he  has  himseli 


438  ESSAYS  AND   REVIEWS  : 

italicized  it,  that  "  a  considerable  school  have  been  disposed  to 
look  to  the  intrinsic  evidence  only,  and  to  accept  the  declara- 
tions of  the  Gospel  solely,  on  the  ground  of  their  intrinsic  evi- 
dence and  accordance  with  our  best  and  highest  moral  and 
religious  convictions  ;  "  and  he  rightly  affirms  that  the  con- 
siderations thus  adduced  are  "  of  a  kind  which  affect  the  entire 
primary  conception  of  '  a  revelation  '  and  its  authority,  and  not 
merely  any  alleged  external  attestations  of  its  truth."  He  also 
admits,  that  "  the  idea  of  a  positive  external  Divine  revela- 
tion of  some  kind  has  formed  the  very  basis  of  all  HITHERTO 
received  systems  of  Christian  belief."  He  charges  "  the  pro- 
fessed advocates  of  an  external  revelation  and  historical  evi- 
dence" with  inconsistency,  for  occasionally  "making  their  ap- 
peal to  conscience  and  feeling,  and  decrying  the  use  of  reason ; " 
and  he  brings  the  same  accusation  of  inconsistency  against 
"the  professed  upholders  of  faith  and  internal  conviction  as 
the  only  sound  basis  of  religion,"  because  they  nevertheless 
regard  "  the  external  facts  as  not  less  essential  truth  which  it 
would  be  profane  to  question."  His  own  doctrine  is,  that  the 
essence  of  a  religion  is  "  the  disclosure  of  spiritual  truth  as 
such,"  which  must  be  received,  if  at  all,  on  faith,  and  not  on 
evidence. 

On  this  theory,  evidently,  the  whole  narrative  of  our  Sav- 
iour's life  must  be  rewritten,  and  even  the  scheme  of  Christian 
doctrine,  so  far  as  it  relates  to  his  peculiar  nature  and  office, 
must  be  abandoned.  The  story  of  his  miraculous  birth  is  a 
fable ;  the  mighty  works  that  he  did  are  incredible  myths ;  and 
the  sepulchre  in  which  he  was  laid  never  gave  up  its  dead,  un- 
less, indeed,  his  disciples  came  by  night  and  stole  him  away. 
The  purely  abstract  and  spiritual  portion  of  the  doctrine  that 
he  preached,  apart  from  his  assurances  of  a  resurrection  and  a 
judgment  to  come,  which  are  facts  that  no  observation  of  the 
present  laws  of  nature  can  warrant,  must  be  received  as  true 
on  the  same  grounds,  and  to  the  same  extent,  that  we  accept 
the  teachings  of  Socrates  ;  namely,  their  accordance  with  our 
moral  and  religious  instincts.  We  are  not  even  at  liberty  so 
far  to  extend  the  domain  of  faith  as  to  include  the  facts  on  ac- 
count of  the  doctrine,  though  not  as  evidence  for  the  doctrine; 
that  is,  the  creed  must  not  embrace  the  resurrection,  or  any 


THE   OXFORD   CLERGYMEN'S   ATTACK  ON   CHRISTIANITY.      439 

other  miraculous  occurrence,  even  though  not  relying  upon  it 
as  an  attestation  of  purely  spiritual  truth.  For  it  is  expressly 
taught,  that  "  matters  of  clear  and  positive  fact,  investigated 
on  critical  grounds  and  supported  by  exact  evidence,  are  prop- 
erly matters  of  knowledge,  not  of  faith." 

But  the  great  error  of  the  Essayist  results  from  the  hopeless 
confusion  of  his  ideas  in  respect  to  the  true  nature  of  physical 
causation.  Sometimes,  he  seems  to  adopt  the  doctrine  of  the 
Positivists,  that  such  causation  is  nothing  but  the  uniformity 
of  sequence  which  enables  us  to  predict  occurrences,  but  not 
to  explain  them,  the  very  idea  of  efficient  cause  being,  in  their 
philosophy,  a  figment  of  bad  metaphysics.  Of  course,  he  who 
denies  efficient  agency  of  any  sort,  must  also  deny  supernatural 
agency  ;  but  he  does  so  at  the  expense  of  rejecting  an  original 
and  irresistible  law  of  the  human  mind,  which  declares  that 
every  change  or  beginning  of  existence  must  have  an  efficient 
cause,  whether  we  can  discover  it  or  not.  Then,  again,  the 
Essayist,  unable  to  prove  from  mere  induction  the  necessary 
and  axiomatic  truth,  that  no  physical  change  whatever  can 
take  place  "  unless  through  the  invariable  operation  of  a  series 
of  eternally  impressed  consequences,  following  in  some  neces- 
sary chain  of  orderly  connection,"  appears  to  attribute  neces- 
sary and  efficient  causation  to  matter,  and  to  deny  voluntary 
causation  to  mind.  He  admits  that  "  we  continually  behold 
lower  laws  held  in  restraint  by  higher,  —  mechanic  by  dynamic, 
chemical  by  vital ;  "  but  he  demurs  to  the  third  instance, 
because  he  "  must  remark  in  passing,  that  the  meaning  of 
'  moral  laws  controlling  physical '  is  not  very  clear."  Why 
not  ?  Is  nob  the  conscious  voluntary  exertion,  whereby  I  raise 
my  arm,  and  thus  support  a  weight  that  would  otherwise  fall, 
an  indubitable  case  of  moral  and  conscious  force  controlling  or 
overriding,  in  a  particular  instance,  the  action  of  gravitation  ? 
And  is  not  the  whole  history  of  physical  science  one  long  record 
of  the  triumphs  of  moral  and  intelligent  force  over  physical 
law,  which  is  everywhere  so  bent,  guided,  and  overruled  by  in- 
telligence, that  it  seems  not  so  much  man's  master  as  his  slave  ? 
Certainly,  in  this  respect,  as  in  so  many  others,  man  is  made 
in  the  likeness  of  his  Creator ;  as  Lord  Bacon  truly  says, 
"  etiam  inventa  quasi  novce  creationes  sunt,  et  divinorum 


440  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS  : 

operum  imitamenta."  If  the  Essayist  believes  in  a  personal 
God,  —  and  otherwise  we  have  no  argument  with  him,  for  we 
admit  the  atheist's  perfect  right  to  say  that,  to  him,  a  miracle 
is  a  thing  absolutely  incredible,  —  then  he  must  acknowledge, 
that  the  action  of  divine  agency  in  suspending  a  law  of  nature 
is  just  as  comprehensible  and  credible  as  that  of  human  agency 
accomplishing  a  precisely  similar  result  on  a  smaller  scale. 
Slowly,  after  much  study  and  effort,  and  often  indirectly,  man 
performs  that  which  infinite  power  and  wisdom  does  at  once. 
Does  the  length  or  difficulty  of  the  operation  alter  its  essential 
nature  ?  The  surgeon  puts  again  into  their  proper  shape  and 
position  the  pieces  of  a  bone  which  the  relentless  law  of  gravi- 
tation has  crushed  ;  and  if  it  be  argued  that  he  cannot  cause 
the  fragments  to  reunite,  what  is  this  but  saying,  that  man 
performs  a  very  small  part  of  the  cure,  and  a  compassionate 
God  does  the  rest  ?  Suppose  that  never  since  the  world  be- 
gan, save  in  one  solitary  instance,  did  the  broken  pieces  of  a 
bone  thus  reunite.  Then  this  single  instance  would  be  a  mira- 
cle, —  a  violation  of  a  fixed  law  of  nature,  —  and  the  Essayist 
would  refuse  to  believe  it  on  any  testimony,  just  as  he  now  re- 
fuses to  believe  that  Lazarus  was  raised  from  the  dead.  But 
he  believes  without  difficulty,  and  on  very  slight  testimony, 
that  this  phenomenon  of  a  fractured  bone  being  reunited  has 
occurred  more  times  than  he  can  reckon.  Yet  what  sort  of 
logic  is  that,  which  pronounces  it  absolutely  incredible  that 
the  thing  should  happen  for  the  first  time  only,  but  perfectly 
credible  that  it  should  take  place  again  and  again,  till  it  has 
ceased  to  be  a  wonder  ?  The  fact  is,  our  author's  whole  argu- 
ment against  miracles,  founded  on  the  absolute  immutability  of 
physical  law,  amounts  only  to  this  poor  truism,  that  such  a  law 
is  never  suspended  without  an  adequate  cause.  Nobody  asserts 
the  contrary.  He  who  believes  in  a  miracle  believes  that  God 
suspended  it. 

The  fourth  Essay,  on  the  National  Church,  by  the  Rev. 
Henry  B.  Wilson,  is  chiefly  curious  as  indicating  the  views  of 
these  writers  as  to  the  possibility  and  rightfulness  of  sceptics 
continuing  to  act  as  Christian  clergymen,  and,  as  such,  to  hold 
their  benefices  and  other  allotted  portions  of  Church  income, 
to  officiate  at  the  sacraments,  to  repeat  weekly,  if  not  daily, 


THE   OXFORD   CLERGYMEN'S  ATTACK  ON   CHRISTIANITY.      441 

the  Service  for  the  day,  with  either  the  Apostles',  the  Nicene, 
or  the  Athanasian  Creed,  together  with  the  lessons  from  the 
Old  and  New  Testaments,  and  to  perform  all  other  clerical 
functions.  The  general  tone  of  the  Essay,  and  the  nature  of 
the  topics  considered  in  it,  strikingly  illustrate  the  truth  of  our 
introductory  remarks,  upon  the  frame  of  mind  and  temper  in 
which  a  clergyman  finds  himself,  who  has  actually  quarrelled 
with  his  profession  and  ceased  to  believe  the  doctrines  that  he 
is  bound  to  teach,  but  who  cannot  summon  up  decision  and 
fortitude  enough  to  resign  his  office  and  look  elsewhere  for 
occupation  and  support.  The  writer  adopts  a  querulous  tone, 
and  appears  discontented  with  himself.  The  Essay  is  a  sort 
of  involuntary  confession,  a  record  of  the  anxious  and  bitter 
self-communings  that  grow  out  of  a  false  position  and  a  wide 
discrepancy  between  opinion  and  profession.  Mr.  Wilson  evi- 
dently does  not  intend  to  attack  Christianity,  but  only  to  jus- 
tify himself.  Unhappily,  a  necessary  part  of  his  own  justifi- 
cation is  to  show  that  he  has  some  good  reason  for  quarrelling 
with  his  religion,  and  that  it  is  a  veritable  grievance  to  be 
obliged  to  repeat  the  formularies  of  faith.  Accordingly,  he 
does  not  actually  argue  against  Christianity,  but  complains  of 
it,  frets  about  it,  strives  to  pick  flaws  in  it,  and  treats  it  as 
pettishly  as  a  child  does  a  lesson  which  only  fear  of  the  rod 
induces  him  to  study. 

Thus,  many  evils  in  all  ages,  he  tells  us,  —  and  the  informa- 
tion is  not  very  new,  —  have  been  linked  with  the  Christian 
profession,  such  as  religious  Avars,  delusions,  and  spiritual 
tyrannies ;  and  "  many  goods  of  civilization  in  our  own  day 
have  apparently  not  the  remotest  connection  with  the  Gospel." 
He  complains  that  forty-two  per  cent,  of  the  English  people, 
as  was  found  by  actual  count,  neglected  to  attend  means  of 
public  worship  within  their  reach  on  the  census  Sunday  in 
1851.  Scepticism  is  not  radicalism  now,  Mr.  Wilson  says,  what- 
ever it  may  have  been  half  a  century  ago,  but  is  "  the  result  of 
observation  and  thought,  not  of  passion."  Our  knowledge  of 
the  nations  of  the  earth  has  been  increased,  and  we  have  be- 
come acquainted  with  great  empires  "  Pagan,  or  even  atheistic." 

"  We  are  told  that  to  know  and  believe  in  Jesus  Christ  is  in  some 
sense  necessary  to  salvation.  It  has  riot  been  given  to  these.  Are 


442  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS  : 

they,  will  they  be  hereafter,  the  worse  off  for  their  ignorance  ?  As  to 
abstruse  points  of  doctrine  concerning  the  Divine  Nature  itself,  those 
subjects  may  be  thought  to  lie  beyond  the  range  of  our  faculties ;  if 
one  says  aye,  no  other  is  entitled  to  say  no  to  his  aye." 

"  If  we  would  set  many  unquiet  souls  at  rest,"  we  are 
bound  to  explain  "  the  unequal  distribution  of  the  Divine 
benefits."  Christianity  did  not  overspread  the  world  very 
rapidly,  after  all ;  it  has  never  been  professed  by  "  more  than 
a  fourth  part  of  the  people  of  the  earth."  Among  Christian 
converts,  even  in  the  Apostolic  age,  there  were  those  who  had 
no  belief  in  the  resurrection  from  the  dead,  and  St.  Paul 
argues  with  such  elaborately,  "  without  expelling  them  from 
the  church  ;  "  though,  we  will  remind  Mr.  Wilson,  in  passing, 
that  there  is  no  evidence,  and  it  is  not  very  probable,  that  he 
allowed  them  to  be  ministers,  bishops,  or  presbyters.  "  There 
were  current  in  the  primitive  church  very  distinct  Christol- 
ogies  ;  "  and  we  can  neither  attribute  to  any  defect  in  our 
capacities,  nor  to  any  imperfect  spiritual  endowments  of  the 
writers,  "  the  difficulty,  if  not  impossibility,  of  reconciling  the 
genealogies  of  St.  Matthew  and  St.  Luke,  or  the  chronology  of 
the  Holy  Week,  or  the  accounts  of  the  Resurrection." 

Argument  would  be  thrown  away  upon  a  fretful  man,  who 
is  merely  bent  upon  justifying  his  pettishness  to  himself. 
Otherwise,  we  might  remind  Mr.  Wilson,  that  Christianity 
cannot  fairly  be  held  responsible  for  the  faults  of  Christians 
which  it  has  failed  to  cure,  since  it  did  not  undertake  to  de- 
prive man  of  the  freedom  of  his  will ;  that  it  may  have  been 
of  inestimable  benefit  to  the  world,  even  if  it  has  not  been  ac- 
cepted by  all  barbarous  and  uncivilized  tribes  ;  that  even  the 
worst  men  at  times  feel  its  influence,  and  acknowledge  its 
power  to  comfort  and  to  save  ;  that  surely  the  best  elements 
of  modern  civilization  are  inseparably  intertwined  with  it,  and 
would  perish  without  its  support ;  and  that  some  difficulties 
in  the  interpretation  of  the  record  are  the  necessary  result  of 
its  transmission  through  eighteen  centuries  to  nations  of  widely 
different  habits  and  modes  of  thought,  without  a  continued 
miracle  being  wrought  in  order  to  adapt  its  expressions  to 
ever-changing  circumstances.  The  truth  and  purity  of  the 
revelation  is  one  thing,  and  the  perfectness  of  the  record  of  it, 


THE    OXFORD   CLERGYMEN'S   ATTACK    ON    CHRISTIANITY.      443 

after  a  lapse  of  one  or  two  thousand  years,  or  even  in  the 
Apostolic  age,  is  another.  If  the  benefits  conferred  upon  the 
world  by  Christianity  had  stopped  at  any  point  short  of  turn- 
ing this  earth  into  heaven,  and  men  into  gods,  whining  com- 
plaints would  still  be  possible  because  it  had  not  accomplished 
more.  The  question  is  not,  whether  the  religion  has  done  all 
the  good  that  is  conceivable,  but  whether  the  good  which  it 
has  actually  done  is  so  great  that  we  have  full  cause  to  thank 
God  for  revealing  it  to  man. 

The  main  purpose  of  Mr.  Wilson's  Essay  is  to  present  the 
arguments  for  converting  the  present  Established  Church  into 
a  truly  "  National  Church,"  whereby  he  means  one  so  broad 
that  it  would  literally  contain  all  the  people,  of  whatever 
shades  of  belief  or  unbelief,  those  who  deny  the  resurrection, 
the  revelation,  or  even  the  being  of  a  God,  included.  "  A 
National  Church,"  he  says,  with  startling  frankness,  "  need 
not,  historically  speaking,  be  Christian,  nor,  if  it  be  Christian, 
need  it  be  tied  down  to  particular  forms  which  have  been  prev- 
alent at  certain  times  in  Christendom."  All  that  is  essential 
is,  "  that  it  should  undertake  to  assist  the  spiritual  progress  of 
the  nation."  And  the  latitude  which  he  would  concede  to  the 
laity,  he  boldly  demands  for  the  clergy.  "  The  freedom  of 
opinion,"  he  says,  "which  belongs  to  the  English  citizen, 
should  be  conceded  to  the  English  Churchman  ;  and  the  free- 
dom which  is  already  practically  enjoyed  by  the  members  of 
the  congregation,  cannot  without  injustice  be  denied  to  its 
ministers." 

The  Essayist  adopts  entirely  Coleridge's  theory  respecting 
the  endowment  of  the  Established  Church,  which  endowment 
he  calls  the  Nationalty,  because  it  is  the  property  of  the  na- 
tion at  large,  and,  as  such,  does  not  descend  by  inheritance  or 
testament.  "  The  enjoyment  of  it  is  subject  to  the  perform- 
ance of  special  services,  and  is  attainable  only  by  the  posses- 
sion of  certain  qualifications."  The  privilege  of  participating 
in  it  should  be  free  from  all  unnecessary  restraint,  so  that  the 
Clerisy  may  be  kept  up  and  recruited  from  the  whole  body  of 
the  citizens.  Though  the  Nationalty  at  first  was  undoubtedly 
a  foundation  only  for  pious  uses,  as  it  originated  in  gifts  and 
bequests  for  the  support  of  a  Christian  Church  and  keeping  up 


444  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS  : 

Christian  ordinances,  the  object  of  this  argument  seems  to  be 
that  it  should  now  be  applied  to  the  development  of  the  ethical 
and  spiritual  nature  of  the  people,  without  the  slightest  refer- 
ence to  speculative  opinions.  The  right  to  a  share  in  the  en- 
dowment ought  not  to  depend,  it  is  urged,  "  on  the  possession 
of  an  abstractedly  true  and  supernaturally  communicated  spec- 
ulation concerning  God,"  but  only  on  a  right  heart  and  a  pure 
life,  as  these  give  the  fullest  manifestation  of  a  divine  life  in 
man.  "  Speculative  doctrines,"  says  Mr.  Wilson,  "  should  be 
left  to  philosophical  schools.  A  national  Church  must  be  con- 
cerned with  the  ethical  development  of  its  members." 

We  are  not  answerable  for  the  clearness  of  this  exposition 
of  Mr.  Wilson's  views  ;  for  to  avoid  any  injustice  to  him,  we 
adopt  his  own  language  as  far  as  our  limits  will  permit,  and 
his  expressions  are  studiously  wary  and  guarded.  But  the 
general  drift  of  his  argument  is  evident  enough  towards  this 
conclusion  ;  that  a  belief  in  Christianity  ought  no  longer  to  be 
a  condition  prerequisite  for  obtaining  and  holding  office  as  a 
clergyman,  and  thereby  sharing  in  the  honors  and  endowments 
of  the  Established  Church.  Now,  whatever  the  Essayist  may 
think,  there  is  no  doubt  that  this  condition  will  continue  to  be 
insisted  upon,  at  least  for  the  present.  Neither  Parliament, 
nor  Convocation,  nor  the  great  body  of  the  English  people, 
will  favor  any  proposition  to  open  the  Church,  either  for  the 
entrance  or  the  continuance  of  a  class  of  clergymen  who  have 
got  beyond  Christianity,  and  no  longer  believe  in  an  external 
revelation,  or  in  any  supernatural  event  whatever. 

We  are  thus  driven  to  examine  the  only  remaining  question, 
whether  the  Creeds,  Articles,  and  Canons,  which  now  limit  and 
obstruct  admission  into  the  Church,  cannot  be  so  liberally  in- 
terpreted that  clergymen  can  squeeze  in,  or  at  any  rate  can 
stay  in,  if  they  are  already  within  the  precincts.  The  Essay- 
ist displays  remarkable  skill  in  casuistry  while  endeavoring 
to  answer  this  question.  More  ingenious  attempts  to  explain 
away  the  clearest  language,  or  to  avoid  the  plainest  dictates  of 
conscience,  we  have  never  heard  of,  save  those  exposed  by  Pas- 
cal in  his  immortal  Provincial  Letters.  Thus,  the  sixth  Arti- 
cle of  the  Church  declares,  that  "  Holy  Scripture  containeth 
all  things  necessary  to  salvation,  so  that  whatsoever  is  not  read 


THE   OXFORD    CLERGYMEN'S   ATTACK   ON   CHRISTIANITY.      445 

therein,  nor  may  be  proved  thereby,  is  not  to  be  required  of 
any  man  that  it  should  be  believed  as  an  article  of  the  Faith," 
&c.  Mr.  Wilson's  comment  is,  that  this  language  requires 
nothing  to  be  believed  unless  it  be  Scriptural ;  but  it  does  not 
affirm,  that  everything  which  is  Scriptural  is  therefore  true 
and  must  be  believed.  Under  such  terms,  it  is  said,  "  one 
may  accept  literally,  or  allegorically,  or  as  parable,  or  poetry, 
or  legend,''  whatever  portion  of  Holy  Writ  he  chooses  so  to 
interpret.  But  does  not  the  Article  plainly  teach  that  Script- 
ure affords  the  ultimate  and  only  test  of  doctrinal  truth,  and 
does  it  not  thereby  teach,  by  necessary  implication,  that  every 
portion  of  Scripture  must  be  believed  ?  Though  the  "  Canon- 
ical books  of  the  Old  and  New  Testament "  are  enumerated 
and  defined  as  constituting  "  Holy  Scripture,"  Mr.  Wilson 
goes  on  to  argue  that,  "  even  if  the  Fathers  have  usually 
considered  '  Canonical '  as  synonymous  with  '  miraculously  in- 
spired,' there  is  nothing  to  show  that  their  sense  of  the  word 
must  necessarily  be  applied  to  our  own  sixth  Article." 

The  act  of  subscribing  the  Thirty-nine  Articles,  which  is  re- 
quired of  all  the  clergy,  is  declared  by  the  Essayist  "  to  be  in- 
operative upon  the  conscience  by  reason  of  its  vagueness  ;  "  for 
the  effect  and  meaning  of  "  subscription  "  are  nowhere  plainly 
laid  down.  It  amounts  only  to  the  acknowledgment  of  a  law 
"  to  which  the  subscriber  is  in  some  sense  subject."  But  the 
Church  Canons  established  in  1603  appear  to  affix  a  very  def- 
inite meaning  to  the  act  of  subscription.  The  fifth  of  these 
Canons  declares,  that  "  whoever  shall  hereafter  affirm  that  any 
of  the  Thirty-nine  Articles  is  in  any  part  superstitious  or  erro- 
neous, or  such  that  he  may  not  with  a  good  conscience  sub- 
scribe to  the  truth  of  them  (vel  omnino  ejusmodi  tit  in  eorum 
veritatem  salva  conscientia  subscribi  nequeaf),  let  him  be  ex- 
communicated," and  not  be  restored  to  his  clerical  office  till 
he  has  publicly  recanted  his  impious  error. 

"  Yet  an  article  may  be  very  inexpedient,  or  become  so  ;  may  be 
unintelligible,  or  not  easily  intelligible  to  ordinary  people  ;  it  may  be 
controversial,  and  such  as  to  provoke  controversy  and  keep  it  alive 
when  otherwise  it  would  subside  ;  it  may  revive  unnecessarily  the  re- 
membrance of  dead  controversies,  —  all  or  any  of  these,  without  being 
'  erroneous ' ;  and  though  not  '  superstitious,'  some  expressions  may 


446  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS  : 

appear  so,  such  as  those  which  seem  to  impute  an  occult  operation  to 
the  sacraments.  The  fifth  Canon  does  not  touch  the  affirming  any  of 
these  things,  and  more  especially,  that  the  Articles  present  truth  dis- 
proportionately and  relatively  to  ideas  not  now  current." 

Moreover,  there  is  a  statute,  the  13th  of  Elizabeth,  de- 
clared by  Sir  William  Scott  to  be  still  in  full  force  as  a  law 
of  the  land,  which  ordains  that  no  person  shall  hold  a  benefice, 
unless  he  has  previously  subscribed  the  Articles,  and  unless, 
within  two  months  after  his  induction,  he  shall  have  publicly 
read  the  said  Articles  in  the  parish  church  of  that  benefice, 
"  with  declaration  of  his  unfeigned  assent  to  the  same;  "  fail- 
ing which  declaration,  he  shall  be,  ipso  facto,  "  immediately 
deprived."  Respecting  this  statute,  Air.  Wilson  argues  that 
"  the  meshes  are  too  open  for  modern  refinement."  And  he 
might  have  added,  that  no  form  of  words  whatever  can  be 
binding  upon  the  conscience  of  any  man,  who  will  allow  him- 
self so  far  to  profit  by  the  arts  of  what  he  here  calls  "  modern 
refinement,"  but  what  we  call  base  chicane  and  wicked  casu- 
istry, as  to  seek  for  "  meshes  "  in  the  mere  verbal  expression 
of  the  promise,  which  may  be  open  enough  to  allow  him  to 
creep  through.  We  have  been  taught  from  early  childhood, 
and  should  be  ashamed  to  repeat  the  lesson  to  any  others  than 
young  children,  that  the  moral  guilt  of  a  falsehood  is  not  pal- 
liated, but  aggravated,  by  the  equivocation  which  palters  with 
the  sense,  and  attempts  to  keep  the  word  of  promise  to  the 
ear  while  breaking  it  to  the  hope  ;  and  that  the  opposite  doc- 
trine should  be  taught  publicly,  and  in  print,  by  one  claiming 
to  be  a  Christian  clergyman,  is  to  us  a  strange  and  mournful 
event.  Yet  Mr.  Wilson,  passing  without  notice  over  the 
epithet  "  unfeigned,"  which  here  qualifies  the  required  assent, 
and  after  remarking  that  it  is  unnecessary  "  to  repeat  concern- 
ing the  word  '  assent '  what  has  been  said  concerning  '  allow  ' 
and  'acknowledge,'"  goes  on  to  argue  as  follows:  — 

"  Forms  of  expression,  partly  derived  from  modern  modes  of  thought 
on  metaphysical  subjects,  partly  suggested  by  a  better  acquaintance 
than  heretofore  with  the  unsettled  state  of  Christian  opinion  in  the 
immediately  post-apostolic  age,  may  be  adopted  with  respect  to  the 
doctrines  enunciated  in  the  first  five  Articles,  without  directly  contra- 
dicting, impugning,  or  refusing  assent  to  them,  but  passing  by  the  side 


THE   OXFORD   CLERGYMEN'S   ATTACK   ON   CHRISTIANITY.      447 

of  them,  —  as  with  respect  to  the  humanifying  of  the  Divine  Word 
and  to  the  Divine  Personalities." 

Three  of  the  five  Articles  here  alluded  to  refer  especially  to 
the  doctrines  of  the  Trinity,  the  Incarnation,  and  Atonement, 
and  the  Resurrection  of  Christ ;  and  by  "forms  of  expression 
derived  partly  from  modern  modes  of  thought  on  metaphysical 
subjects"  Mr.  Wilson  probably  means  the  technical  phrase- 
ology of  Schleiermacher,  Hegel,  Strauss,  and  other  German 
philosophers,  which  allows  one  to  speak  of  a  sort  of  Christ  em- 
bodied in  the  consciousness  of  every  Christian  individual,  or 
to  identify  the  Saviour  with  the  whole  human  race,  saying 
that  it  is  Humanity  which  unites  the  two  natures,  and  which 
dies,  rises,  and  ascends  to  heaven,  belief  in  an  historical  Christ 
being  excluded  altogether.  At  any  rate,  such  are  the  doc- 
trines which,  according  to  this  Essayist,  under  the  garb  of 
modern  metaphysical  phraseology,  are  capable  of  "  passing  by 
the  side  of  "  the  first  five  Articles  of  the  English  Church, 
"  without  directly  contradicting,  impugning,  or  refusing  assent 
to  them." 

Now  it  is  not  for  us,  here  or  elsewhere,  to  maintain  the  ver- 
itv  of  the  Thirty-nine  Articles  as  statements  of  sound  theo- 
logical doctrine,  or  to  uphold  the  justice  and  expediency  of 
fencing  round  the  Church  of  England  with  so  many  Creeds, 

O  i/ 

Canons,  and  Articles,  as  means  of  excluding  heterodoxy.  These 
are  points  to  be  considered  only  by  that  Church  itself.  The 
only  question  to  be  answered  here  is,  whether  beneficed  clergy- 
men of  that  Church,  who  are  certainly  free  to  leave  it  when- 
ever they  see  fit,  are  nevertheless  justified  in  remaining  in  it, 
performing  its  duties,  and  sharing  its  revenues,  when  their 
own  theological  opinions  are  such  as  have  been  here  stated, 
and  when  they  can  '  allow,'  '  acknowledge,'  and  declare  their 
'unfeigned  assent  '  to  its  Articles  and  Canons  only  by  means 
of  such  equivocations  and  perversions  of  language  as  we  have- 
just  quoted  in  their  own  words.  And  this  is  a  matter  for  them 
to  consider,  not  so  much  as  clergymen,  nor  even  as  Christians, 
but  simply  AS  HONEST  MEN.  Adopt  even  Mr.  Wilson's  own 
low  idea  of  the  proper  function  of  a  National  Church, — that  its 
object  is  not  to  teach  "an  abstractedly  true  and  supernaturally 
communicated  speculation  concerning  God,"  but  only  to  aid 


448  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS  : 

"  the  ethical  development  of  its  members."  What  sort  of 
ethical  development  is  that  which  elaborately  teaches  the  art 
of  explaining  away,  or  creeping  through  the  meshes  of,  the 
most  deliberate  promises  and  the  most  solemn  declarations  of 
belief  ?  How  can  man  retain  —  we  will  not  say,  any  faith  in 
God,  but  —  any  confidence  in  his  brother-man,  if  the  binding 
force  of  every  contract,  and  the  truthfulness  of  every  assevera- 
tion, were  to  be  tried  in  the  same  scales  in  which  Mr.  Wilson 
weighs  the  obligation  of  a  subscribed  declaration  of  belief  ? 
These  Essayists  are  teaching  us,  not  merely  a  new  system  of 
speculative  unbelief  in  theology,  but  a  new  code  of  practical 
ethics,  which,  if  it  were  true,  would  render  men  as  incapable 
of  living  together  in  peaceful  society  as  if  they  were  what 
Hobbes  describes  them  to  be,  —  grasping  savages,  whose  in- 
satiable cupidity  can  be  restrained  only  by  brute  force. 

One  honorable  exception  must  be  made.  Mr.  C.  W.  Good- 
win, the  author  of  the  next  Essay  in  this  volume,  on  "  The 
Mosaic  Cosmogony,"  after  completing  his  preparation  for  the 
ministry,  has,  if  we  are  rightly  informed,  stripped  off  his  gowrn 
and  voluntarily  abandoned  the  clerical  profession,  because  he 
could  not  conscientiously  subscribe  the  required  declarations 
of  belief.  Such  conduct  affords  the  best  practical  rebuke  of 
the  course  pursued  by  his  associates  in.  this  volume,  most  of 
whom  still  continue  to  stand  up  every  week  in  the  face  of  a 
whole  congregation,  and  solemnly  repeat  aloud  the  Apostles' 
Creed,  from  its  simple  but  lofty  introduction,  '•  I  believe  in 
God  the  Father  Almighty,"  even  to  its  consoling  and  impres- 
sive close,  "  the  Forgiveness  of  Sins,  the  Resurrection  of  the 
Body,  and  the  Life  everlasting  "  ;  though  to  three  fourths  of 
the  clauses  in  that  Creed,  the  only  response  which,  in  heart 
and  conscience,  they  could  make,  would  be,  "  I  do  NOT  be- 
lieve." 

Mr.  Goodwin's  Essay  need  not  be  considered  here  at  any 
length,  as  it  is  unexceptionable  in  tone,  contains  nothing  new, 
and  the  topic  of  which  it  treats  has  been  so  much  discussed 
elsewhere  that  it  is  fairly  exhausted.  We  can  only  wonder  at 
the  exaggerated  importance  which  has  been  attributed  to  the 
subject,  and  which  has  called  forth  so  much  discussion.  The 
whole  question  turns  upon  the  proper  interpretation  to  be 


THE   OXFORD   CLERGYMEN'S    ATTACK   ON   CHRISTIANITY.      449 

given  to  a  few  verses,  or  rather  to  a  few  words,  in  the  first 
two  chapters  of  Genesis.  Perhaps  a  dozen  different  modes  of 
interpreting  them  have  been  proposed,  any  one  of  which  has 
a  certain  plausibility,  while  we  agree  with  Mr.  Goodwin  in 
thinking  that  not  one  of  them  is  entirely  free  from  objections. 
But  give  these  objections  their  full  weight,  and  what  do  they 
amount  to  ?  Any  bearing  which  they  can  have  upon  a  belief 
in  Christianity  is  so  remote  and  indistinct,  a  matter  of  such 
doubtful  inference,  that  a  person's  sanity  would  almost  be 
questionable  who  should  allow  them  to  perplex  or  darken  his 
faith.  Genesis,  in  many  respects,  stands  alone  among  the  books 
of  the  Bible.  It  is  probably  the  oldest  of  them  all,  and  per- 
haps the  oldest  written  book  of  any  length  that  is  now  extant. 
It  is  the  record  of  a  tradition  of  a  primitive  revelation  to  man- 
kind. The  record,  as  we  now  possess  it,  is  imperfect,  and  the 
tradition  was  probably  still  more  imperfect;  but  the  authen- 
ticity of  the  primitive  revelation  itself  is  attested  by  the  gen- 
eral coincidence  of  its  contents  with  the  latest  and  best-estab- 
lished discoveries  of  modern  science,  —  a  coincidence  admitted 
by  Mr.  Goodwin  himself,  with  all  his  disposition  to  pick  out 
and  exaggerate  discrepancies  in  detail,  —  and  a  coincidence 
that  must  appear  even  miraculous,  when  it  is  remembered 
that  the  book  was  written  long  before  the  birth  of  anything 
that  deserved  the  name  of  human  science,  and  that  all  other 
cosmogonies  which  even  approximate  it  in  antiquity  are  absurd 
and  worthless.  After  giving  a  very  good  abstract  of  the  latest 
and  most  certain  conclusions  of  the  geologists,  Mr.  Goodwin 
says :  "  Now  these  facts  do  certainly  tally  to  some  extent  with 
the  Mosaic  account,  which  represents  fish  and  fowl  as  having 
been  produced  from  the  waters  on  the  fifth  day,  reptiles  and 
mammals  from  the  earth  on  the  sixth,  and  man  as  made  last 
of  all."  But  he  adds  that  "the  agreement,  however,  is  far 
from  exact."  We  admit  it :  and  as  Genesis  was  certainly  not 
written  for  the  purpose  of  anticipating  the  discoveries  of  mod- 
ern science,  and  as  the  forms  of  expression  and  modes  of 
thought  which  belonged  to  the  age  when  it  was  written  are 

~  o  O 

very  unlike  those   that   are   current   in  our  own  day,   we  are 
neither  surprised  nor  disturbed  at  the  want  of  exactness. 
The  Rev.  Mark  Pattison  next  contributes  an  historical  essay 

20 


450  ESSAYS   AND  REVIEWS: 

on  the  "  Tendencies  of  Religious  Thought  in  England,  1688- 
1750."  It  is  ingenious,  entertaining,  and  sophistical.  The 
facts  are  selected  in  order  to  sustain  a  preconceived  theoretical 
opinion,  —  a  foregone  conclusion,  which,  by  a  common  rhetor- 
ical artifice,  is  nowhere  expressly  stated,  though  the  way  to- 
wards it  is  so  skilfully  marked  out  by  selecting  and  marshalling 
the  facts,  that  the  unwary  reader  is  entrapped  into  accepting 
it  as  his  own  deduction  from  known  and  acknowledged  prem- 
ises. Of  course,  for  the  very  reason  that  the  facts  are  selected 
for  this  pupose  only,  the  statement  of  them  is  but  half  the 
truth,  and  therefore  the  conclusion  towards  which  they  seem 
to  tend  is  just  as  likely  to  be  one-sided  or  false,  as  if  it  did 
not  even  pretend  to  have  any  facts  at  all  for  its  basis. 

The  thesis  to  be  maintained  is,  that  what  are  technically 
called  "  the  Evidences "  of  Christianity  are  worthless ;  that 
elaborating  and  writing  them  out  is  both  an  indication  and  a 
cause  of  a  very  low  state  of  theology  ;  and  that  the  study  of 
them  is  unprofitable,  and  even  degrading.  And  the  historical 
proof  of  this  doctrine  is  as  follows.  The  eighteenth  century, 
especially  the  thirty  years  which  succeeded  the  peace  of  Utrecht 
(1714),  though  a  period  of  great  commercial  and  material 
prosperity  for  England,  was  "one  of  decay  of  religion,  licen- 
tiousness of  morals,  public  corruption,  profaneness  of  language, 
—  a  day  of  rebuke  and  blasphemy."  Mr.  Pattison  prettily  and 
forcibly  adds,  "  that  it  was  an  age  whose  poetry  was  without 
romance,  whose  philosophy  was  without  insight,  and  whose 
public  men  were  without  character."  This  moral  degradation, 
we  are  further  informed,  is  not  attributable  to  the  material 
welfare  of  the  country  as  its  cause,  but  was  due  to  the  low 
state  of  theology,  —  especially  to  the  fact  that  the  theology  of 
those  times  was  mainly  devoted  to  expositions  of  "the  Evi- 
dences," -  —  to  repeated  and  futile  attempts  to  prove  what  John 
Locke  calls  "  the  Reasonableness  of  Christianity."  The  con- 
clusion which  the  reader  is  invited  to  draw  for  himself  is,  that 
because  John  Locke,  Addison,  Bentley,  Berkeley,  Butler,  Le- 
land,  and  many  others,  wrote  frequently  and  vigorously  in  de- 
fence of  Christianity,  general  infidelity  ensued,  and  there  was 
a  wide-spread  corruption  of  morals. 

Now  we  believe,  not  that  the  display  of  umbrellas  brought 


THE   OXFORD   CLERGYMEN'S  ATTACK  ON   CHRISTIANITY.      451 

down  the  rain,  but  that  the  rain  brought  out  the  umbrellas. 
It  is  far  more  probable  that  the  prevalence  of  infidelity 
induced  Bentley,  Berkeley,  and  Butler  to  write  in  defence 
of  religion,  than  that  the  writings  of  these  men  produced 
or  enhanced  the  unbelief  which  they  sought  to  cure.  The 
chronology  of  the  period  favors  this  view.  The  most  noted 
publications  of  the  English  Deists,  as  they  are  called,  appeared 
before  1714,  some  of  them,  such  as  those  of  Blount  and  Shaf  tes- 
bury,  falling  within  the  preceding  century ;  while  most  of 
the  answers  to  them  were  published  after  the  peace  of  Utrecht. 
And  low  as  the  state  of  religion  and  morals  was  during  the 
thirty  or  fifty  years  after  the  accession  of  the  House  of  Bruns- 
wick, during  the  half-century  which  preceded  that  event  it 
was  far  worse.  The  reigns  of  the  first  two  Georges  were  bad 
enough,  but  they  did  not  equal  in  profligacy,  dissoluteness,  and 
irreligion  those  of  the  last  two  Stuarts.  Charles  II.  was  as 
worthless  a  monarch  as  ever  sat  on  an  English  throne,  —  with- 
out heart,  patriotism,  morals,  or  religion  ;  his  court,  ministry, 
and  Parliament  were  as  corrupt  as  he  \vas,  and  his  people  were 
little  better.  James  II.  was  a  stupid  and  cruel  bigot  ;  and  the 
Church  under  him — equally  unprincipled,  at  first  in  its  fawn- 
ing submissiveness,  and  then  in  its  rebellious  intolerance  — was 
worthy  to  have  such  a  king  for  its  temporal  and  spiritual  head. 
Walpole  and  the  Pelhams  were  not  very  scrupulous  ministers  ; 
but  they  appear  almost  as  saints  when  compared  with  Shaftes- 
bury  and  the  Cabal,  with  Danby  and  Rochester.  The  stage 
at  this  period  was  a  brothel,  the  dramatists  and  poets  are  un- 
fit for  a  modest  woman  to  read,  and  the  clergy,  with  a  few 
shining  exceptions,  had  neither  respectability,  talents,  nor  influ- 
ence. From  the  corruption  of  those  times  English  Deism  was 
a  natural  outgrowth.  Blount,  Toland,  and  Shaftesbury  were 
not  very  formidable  opponents  of  religious  belief,  but  their 
power  consisted  in  the  aptitude  of  the  people  to  receive  the 
lessons  which  they  taught.  They  addressed  a  prepared  and 
willing  audience,  who  had  already  lent  an  itching  ear  to  Hobbes, 
and  were  ready,  soon  afterwards,  to  listen  to  Collins,  Wools- 
ton,  Tindal,  and  Morgan. 

The  reaction  against  this  woful  dissoluteness  and  unbelief 
began  as  early  even  as  the  reign  of  Anne,  —  the  writings  of 


452  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS  : 

Locke,  Newton,  Bentley,  and  Addison  certainly  contributing 
towards  the  happy  result.  And  the  movement  which  they 
began  was  nobly  continued,  during  the  two  ensuing  reigns,  by 
some  of  the  finest  minds  of  which  English  literature  and  phi- 
losophy can  boast,  and  with  results  which,  though  gradual 
and  incomplete,  were  still  broad  and  permanent.  Immorality 
and  unbelief  at  least  became  ashamed  to  show  themselves  as 
openly  as  before ;  they  slunk  into  corners  and  hiding-places, 
and  the  general  tone  of  literature  became  decorous  and  re- 
spectable. The  public  generally  were  weaned  from  the  scoffs 
and  ribaldry  on  which  they  had  previously  battened,  and 
learned  to  respect  religion  and  virtue,  even  if  they  did  not 
always  practise  what  they  honored.  The  infidelity  which  had 
been  so  rampant  at  the  beginning  of  the  century  now  fell  so 
rapidly  out  of  fashion,  that  when  Hume,  at  once  the  ablest 
and  the  most  decorous  of  the  Deists,  published  his  Treatise  on 
Human  Nature,  in  1738,  he  was  obliged  to  confess  that  it  fell 
still-born  from  the  press,  and  did  not  obtain  even  the  honor  of 
a  reply.  That  the  theologians  and  philosophers  who  contrib- 
uted to  this  happy  result  should  have  devoted  their  writings 
chiefly  to  an  exposition  of  "  the  Evidences,"  and  a  defence  of 
the  doctrines  of  Christianity,  is  no  more  to  be  wondered  at 
than  that,  at  a  much  earlier  age,  Justin  Martyr  and  Tertullian 
should  have  published  Apologies  for  Christianity.  In  both 
cases,  Christians  were  addressing  a  generation  of  Pagans. 

It  may  suit  Mr.  Pattison's  purpose,  and  fill  out  his  triad  of 
antitheses,  to  sneer  at  the  philosophy  of  this  period  as  "  with- 
out insight."  But  it  shows  bad  taste  and  defective  knowledge 
to  include  in  this  sneer  such  men  as  Butler,  the  father  of  mod- 
ern ethical  science,  not  only  in  England,  but  for  all  Europe  ; 
Berkeley,  the  pure  and  refined  spiritualist,  and  one  of  the  most 
elegant  writers  and  original  philosophical  thinkers  that  Eng- 
land has  produced  ;  Samuel  Clarke,  a  co-worker  with  Newton, 
the  well-matched  opponent  of  Leibnitz,  and  one  of  the  great- 
est masters  of  abstract  metaphysical  reasoning  that  the  world 

J_         t/  O 

has  ever  seen  ;  and  even  Warburton,  who,  witli  all  his  defects 
of  temper,  has  been  well  called  'kthe  last  of  our  really  great 
divines."  To  represent  such  men,  with  their  coadjutors,  Locke, 
Bentley,  and  Addison,  as  over-matched,  or  even  well-matched, 


THE   OXFORD   CLERGYMEN'S   ATTACK   ON   CHRISTIANITY.      453 

by  such  small  fry  us  Blount,  Toland,  Collins,  and  Woolston, 
is  but  a  piece  of  the  same  arrogance  which  declares  that  the 
works  of  Barrow  now  "  excite  perhaps  only  a  smile  of  pity  "/ 
Why,  Bentley  alone,  the  greatest  classical  scholar  of  modern 
times,  appears,  both  in  his  Boyle  Lectures  and  his  contro- 
versy with  Collins,  like  the  giant  Thor  crushing  his  opponent 
with  a  single  blow  of  his  ponderous  hammer.  Yet  this  Es- 
sayist informs  us,  in  his  usual  sneering  tone,  that  "  the  more 
they  demonstrated,  the  less  people  believed  ; "  and  that,  if  cir- 
cumstances had  not  turned  theological  study  another  way, 
"•  the  Deistical  controversy  might  have  gone  on  indefinitely, 
and  the  'amaboean  strain  of  objection  and  reply,  cant  are  pares 
et  respondere  parati  '  have  been  prolonged  to  this  day."  But 
what  victory  could  have  been  more  decisive  than  the  one 
achieved  at  least  as  early  as  1750,  before  which  time,  as  Mr. 
Pattison  himself  remarks,  the  Deists  had  first  ceased  to  find 
an  audience,  and  then  ceased  to  write  ?  When  the  posthu- 
mous works  of  Bolingbroke,  "  the  last  of  the  professed  Deists," 
were  first  published,  in  1754,  "the  interest  in  them  was  al- 
ready gone;  they  found  the  public  cold  or  indisposed."  And 
we  have  already  seen  what  was  the  reception  of  Hume  sixteen 
years  earlier. 

The  offence  which  Berkeley,  Butler,  and  Clarke  committed, 
and  for  which  they  are  tried  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Pattison  and 
found  wanting,  u  expiating  the  attention  they  once  engrossed 
by  as  universal  an  oblivion,"  is  that  they  wrote  in  defence  of 
their  religious  faith  when  it  was  assailed  by  scoffers,  and  thus 
created  one  important  department  of  English  theology,  the 
Evidences  of  Christianity.  Our  Essayist  cherishes  an  intense 
dislike  of  these  "  Evidences,"  and  heaps  upon  them  all  the 
sarcasms  which  he  can  invent  or  muster.  He  calls  them  "that 
Old  Bailey  theology,  in  which,  to  use  Johnson's  illustration, 
the  Apostles  are  being  tried  once  a  week  for  the  capital  crime 
of  forgery."  lie  tells  us,  in  one  place,  that  "  neither  the  ex- 
ternal nor  the  internal  Evidences  are  properly  theology  at 
all ;  "  and  in  another,  that  "  they  were  the  proper  theology 
of  an  age  whose  literature  consisted  in  writing  Latin  hexame- 
ters." Then  he  calls  them  "  home-baked  theology,"  and  bor- 
rows one  sarcasm  from  Maurice,  "  that  the  result  of  the  whole 


454  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS: 

is,  that  '  it  is  safer  to  believe  in  a  God,  lest,  if  there  should 
happen  to  be  one,  he  might  send  us  to  hell  for  denying  his  ex- 
istence ; '  "  and  another  from  a  Tractarian,  that  the  general 
result  is  "  three  chances  to  one  for  revelation,  and  only  two 
against  it."  He  tells  us  that,  when  writing  upon  the  Evi- 
dences was  in  fashion,  "  the  divine  went  out  into  the  streets, 
with  his  demonstration  of  the  being  and  attributes  of  God 
printed  on  a  broadside." 

Perhaps  a  new  standard  of  manners  as  well  as  of  theology 
has  been  erected  at  Oxford  ;  but  here  in  New  England  it 
would  not  be  considered  very  decent  and  proper,  it  would  not 
be  "  quite  the  thing  "  for  a  Christian  clergyman,  to  heap  up 
such  sarcasms  upon  such  a  subject.  But  Mr.  Pattison  knows 
best  what  the  audience  which  he  is  addressing  will  most  relish. 
It  is  only  charitable  to  him  to  believe,  that  he  objects  to  "the 
Evidences  "  not  merely  as  evidence,  for  that  would  be  to  reject 
the  only  test  by  which  truth  can  be  distinguished  from  error, 
either  in  a  court  of  justice,  in  science,  in  philosophy,  or  in  our 
daily  conduct ;  since,  on  all  these  occasions,  we  must  make  up 
our  minds  on  evidence  of  one  sort  or  another,  or  else  give  up 
man's  noble  prerogative  of  reason,  and  decide  at  haphazard. 
He  does  not,  then,  reject  evidence  as  such,  but  only  "  the 
Evidences  of  Christianity;"  or,  in  other  words,  his  objection 
lies,  not  against  the  mode  of  proof,  but  ayainst  the  tiling  to  be 
proved.  He  will  admit  evidence  in  relation  to  every  other 
topic  under  heaven,  and  will  scoff  at  it  only  when  it  is  in  favor 
of  Christianity.  He  will  even  admit  it  when  it  is  against  the 
Christian  religion,  but  not  when  tending  to  establish  it ;  for, 
as  we  have  seen,  one  leading  purpose  of  his  associates  in  this 
very  volume  is,  to  heap  together  against  this  religion  all  the 
objections  which  they  can  gather,  whether  from  English 
Deism,  from  modern  physical  science,  or  from  German  meta- 
physics. Fair  play  requires  us  to  hear  both  sides.  But  these 
gentlemen  cry  out,  "  Xot  so.  Hear  only  the  accuser  ;  muzzle 
the  defendant.  Heap  up  all  the  testimony  for  the  prosecution, 
and  rule  that  for  the  defence  out  of  court." 

Want  of  space  compels  us  to  pass  hurriedly  over  the  only  re- 
maining Essay  in  this  volume,  on  the  Interpretation  of  Script- 
ure, by  Professor  Jowett.  It  is  chiefly  an  argumentative 


THE    OXFORD   CLERGYMEN'S   ATTACK   ON   CHRISTIANITY.      455 

restatement  of  the  theory  which  this  writer  propounded,  and 
applied  at  length,  in  his  Commentary  on  some  of  the  Epistles 
of  St.  Paul,  that  diversities  of  opinion  on  theological  subjects 
have  arisen  mainly  out  of  "  the  error  of  introducing  into  the 
interpretation  of  Scripture  the  notions  of  a  later  age."  His 
opinion  seems  to  be,  (for  it  is  nowhere  declared  with  much 
distinctness,)  that  the  teachings  of  our  Saviour  and  his  Apos- 
tles, being  addressed  primarily  to  a  few  small  communities  of 
believers  in  some  of  the  Roman  provinces  about  eighteen  cent- 
uries ago,  have  comparatively  little  meaning  or  pertinency  for 
civilized  Christendom  in  these  later  times.  "  The  temper  of 
accommodation,"  which  has  led  to  diverse  and  contradictory  in- 
terpretations of  Scripture,  shows  itself,  he  says,  "  especially  in 
two  ways:  first,  in  the  attempt  to  adapt  the  truths  of  Script- 
ure to  the  doctrines  of  the  creed  ;  secondly,  in  the  adaptation 
of  the  precepts  and  maxims  of  Scripture  to  the  language  or 
practice  of  our  own  age."  According  to  this  view,  to  attrib- 
ute our  modern  theological  opinions  to  Christ  and  his  Apostles 
is  as  great  an  anachronism  as  to  attribute  to  them  our  system 
of  philosophy. 

This  theory  is  evidently  based  upon  a  very  low  and  ration- 
alistic view  of  the  origin  of  the  Christian  religion.  It  assumes 
in  the  outset,  that  the  mission  of  our  Saviour  did  not  include 
any  general  revelation  to  all  mankind,  but  only  a  special  com- 
munication of  certain  truths  which  it  particularly  behooved 
one  nation  and  one  age  to  know,  and  from  which  subsequent 
generations  can  only  glean  a  few  isolated  hints  on  matters  per- 
tinent to  their  own  condition.  Furthermore,  this  is  as  much 
a  theory  which  will  bias  all  interpretations  of  Scripture  made 
by  those  who  hold  it,  as  if  they  came  to  an  examination  of 
the  text  with  a  predisposition  to  find  in  it  every  clause  of 
the  Nicene  Creed  and  every  one  of  the  Thirty-nine  Articles. 
Professor  Jowett  thinks  he  has  found  a  specific  wherewith 
to  avoid  the  errors  of  all  former  commentators ;  but  his  own 
method  turns  out  to  be  a  mere  repetition  of  the  old  blunder, 
which  extracts  from  Scripture  only  fresh  confirmations  of  pre- 
conceived errors. 

"  Hie  libci1  est  iu  quo  quant  sua  dogmata  quisque  ; 
luveuit  et  pariter  dogmata  quisque  sua." 


456  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS. 

We  here  close  our  examination  of  this  remarkable  volume, 
—  an  examination  protracted  to  a  greater  length,  as  many  of 
our  readers  will  doubtless  think,  than  is  justified  either  by  the 
merits  or  the  demerits  of  the  work  under  review.  But,  as  al- 
ready remarked,  the  character  and  position  of  the  writers  may 
lend  great  significance  to  a  book  which  would  otherwise  pass 
quietly  and  quickly  to  oblivion. 


RESTORATION  OF  THE  TEXT  OF  SHAKESPEARE. 

FROM    THE    NORTH   AMERICAN    REVIEW    FOR    APRIL,    1854.1 

IT  seems  strange  that  the  text  of  Shakespeare,  which  has 
been  in  existence  less  than  two  hundred  and  fifty  years,  should 
be  far  more  uncertain  and  corrupt  than  that  of  the  New  Tes- 
tament, now  over  eighteen  centuries  old,  during  nearly  fifteen 
of  which  it  existed  only  in  manuscript.  The  industry  of  col- 
lators and  commentators,  indeed,  has  collected  a  formidable 
array  of  "  various  readings  "  in  the  Greek  text  of  the  Script- 
ures ;  but  the  number  of  these  which  have  any  good  claim  to 
be  received,  and  which  also  seriously  affect  the  sense,  is  so 
small,  that  they  may  almost  be  counted  upon  the  fingers. 
With  perhaps  a  dozen  or  twenty  exceptions,  the  text  of  every 
verse  in  the  New  Testament  may  be  said  to  be  so  far  settled 
by  the  general  consent  of  scholars,  that  any  dispute  as  to  its 
meaning  must  relate  rather  to  the  interpretation  of  the  words 
than  to  any  doubt  respecting  the  words  themselves.  But  in 
every  one  of  Shakespeare's  thirty-seven  plays,  there  are  prob- 
ably a  hundred  readings  still  in  dispute,  a  large  proportion  of 
which  materially  affect  the  meaning  of  the  passages  in  which 
they  occur.  The  publication  of  Mr.  Collier's  recent  volume, 
which,  according  to  some  critics,  has  not  settled  a  single  point 
which  was  formerly  in  controversy,  has  given  us  about  a  thou- 

1  1.  Notes  and  Emendations  to  the  Text  of  SHAKESPEARE'S  Plays,  from  Early 
Manuscript  Corrections  in  a  Copy  of  the  Folio  1632,  in  the  Possession  of  J.  PAYNE 
COLLIER,  ESQ.  Second  Edition,  revised  and  enlarged.  London,  1853. 

2.  The  Text  of  SHAKESPEARE  vindicated  from  the  Interpolations  and  Corruptions 
advocated    by   Jonx   PAYNE    COLLIER,  ESQ.     By    SAMUEL    WELLER    SINGER. 
London, 1853. 

3.  A  Few  Notes  on  SHAKESPEARE  ;  with  Occasional  Remarks  on  the  Emendations 
of  the  Manuscript   Corrector  in  MR.  COLLIER'S    Copy  of  the  Folio   1632.    By   the 
REV.  ALEXANDER  DYCE.    London,  1853. 


458         THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  COMMENTATORS: 

sand  new  topics  for  the  commentators  to  quarrel  about. 
Many  passages  in  the  received  text  are  also  admitted  to  be 
hopelessly  corrupt,  as  no  consistent  meaning  can  be  given  to 
them  without  doing  violence  to  the  language. 

It  would  be  a  curious  and  important  investigation  to  assign 
all  the  causes  of  this  astonishing  difference.  But  a  full  dis- 
cussion of  this  subject  would  occupy  a  volume  rather  than  an 
article  ;  and  our  only  purpose  here  is  to  speak  briefly  of  the 
circumstances  which  have  caused  the  text  of  our  great  dram- 
atist to  be  so  maimed  and  perverted,  and  have  left  so  many 
passages  to  be  settled  by  every  reader  according  to  his  own 
taste  and  fancy. 

The  first  of  these  causes  may  be  found  in  the  character  of 
Shakespeare  himself,  —  in  his  unconsciousness  of  the  great- 
ness of  his  work,  and  his  consequent  indifference  about  its  pres- 
ervation. He  wrote,  not  for  the  press,  but  for  the  theatre  ; 
and  the  only  success  of  any  one  of  his  plays  which  he  seems  to 
have  cared  for,  was  its  effect  in  swelling  the  profits  of  the  the- 
atrical company  in  which  he  was  both  an  actor  and  a  share- 
holder. He  did  not  superintend,  and  there  is  no  reason  to 
believe  that  he  even  authorized,  the  publication  of  one  of  his 
dramas.  The  interests  of  the  company  were  best  served  by 
retaining  them  in  manuscript  and  in  their  own  possession,  so 
as  to  prevent  the  representation  of  them  in  rival  theatres. 
Thus,  not  even  written  copies  of  them  were  multiplied  beyond 
the  needs  of  this  single  band  of  performers.  Surreptitious 
copies  sometimes  got  out,  and  pii'atical  booksellers  published 
them,  but  generall}7  in  so  imperfect  and  corrupt  a  state  that 
the  author  might  have  been  puzzled  to  recognize  his  own 
progeny.  Yet  Shakespeare  seems  to  have  given  himself  no 
further  concern  about  the  matter  than  was  implied  in  taking 
better  care  of  the  manuscripts  of  his  later  plays,  very  few  of 
which  appeared  in  print  before  the  collective  edition  of  his 
works  was  published,  in  1623,  seven  years  after  his  death. 

It  may  appear  derogatory  to  the  reputation  of  our  great 
dramatist  to  assert  that  he  wrote  his  plays  for  profit  rather 
than  fame.  But  we  have  no  doubt  that  gain  was  his  only 
motive.  Of  the  publication  of  his  "  Poems,"  indeed,  —  the  Ve- 
nus and  Adonis,  and  the  Lucrece,  —  he  seems  to  have  taken 


RESTORATION   OF    THE   TEXT   OF   SHAKESPEARE.  45S 

more  care,  as  if  he  looked  to  the  good  opinion  that  men  might 
form  of  them.  He  certainly  wrote  dedications  of  them  to  the 
Earl  of  Southampton,  and,  as  the  tradition  goes,  received  a 
splendid  proof  of  this  nobleman's  munificence  in  return.  He 
must  therefore  have  prepared  the  manuscript  for  the  press  ; 
and  the  text  is  accordingly  found  in  tolerably  good  condition, 
having  given  but  little  trouble  to  the  commentators.  But  the 
plays  were  written  to  please  such  audiences  as  thronged  the 
rude  theatres  of  that  period,  —  cheap  wooden  structures,  open 
to  the  sky  at  the  place  designed  for  the  spectators,  most  of 
whom  were  also  compelled  to  stand  on  the  ground,  either  in 
front  or  at  the  sides.  The  applause  of  such  a  rabble  was  of 
little  worth  ;  all  that  was  expected  of  them  was  their  presence 
and  the  price  of  their  admission.  Provided  the  performances 
were  attractive  enough  to  allure  a  throng,  the  players  cared 
for  nothing  further;  and  Shakespeare,  who  was  one  of  the 
busiest  among  them,  —  at  once  actor,  playwright,  and  share- 
holder,—  was  equally  well  satisfied.  At  times,  the  company 
was  honored  with  a  request,  or  a  command  rather,  to  perform 
at  the  houses  of  some  of  the  nobility,  or  even  at  court  ;  but 
this  honor  was  prized  not  so  much  for  its  own  sake,  as  for 
the  protection  which  it  insured  them,  and  the  consequent 
permission  to  continue  their  gainful  efforts  to  please  the  pop- 
ulace. 

The  English  drama,  it  must  be  remembered,  was  then  in 
its  infancy  ;  it  was  hardly  twenty  years  old  when  Shakespeare 
entered  upon  the  profession.  The  Mysteries  and  Moralities 
which  preceded  it  were  not  of  much  higher  rank  than  the  per- 
formances of  Punch  and  Judy,  or  of  the  Doctor  and  his  Merry- 
Andrew,  at  a  much  later  day.  The  players  seem,  at  first, 
to  have  been  merely  tolerated,  not  licensed.  Under  Edward 
VI.,  severe  measures  were  taken  to  repress  dramatic  perform- 
ances and  the  publication  of  plays.  For  two  years,  under 
Mary,  they  were  totally  inhibited.  The  government  of  Eliza- 
beth discountenanced  them  at  first,  but  by  degrees  they  were 
permitted.  In  1572,  an  act  was  passed  to  limit  the  num- 
ber of  itinerant  performers,  and  it  was  renewed  with  addi- 
tional severity  in  1507.  The  Lord  Mayor  and  Aldermen  suc- 
ceeded in  excluding  them  from  the  precincts  of  the  city,  but 


4GO  THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   COMMENTATORS  : 

they  found  shelter  in  the  liberties.  Not  till  1576  was  any 
building  set  apart  for  theatrical  representations  ;  previously, 
they  had  only  temporary  accommodations  in  structures  de- 
signed for  other  purposes.  The  Puritanic  feeling  seems  to 
have  been  aroused  against  them,  while  they  appear  to  have 
found  favor  with  the  nobility,  and  some  indulgence  at  court. 
Thus,  the  several  associations  of  players  called  themselves  the 
companies  of  the  Queen,  the  Earls  of  Leicester,  Derby,  and 
Sussex,  and  the  Lords  Hunsdon  and  Strange.  The  connec- 
tion thus  implied  was  probably  little  more  than  nominal ;  but 
the  persecuted  actors  seem  to  have  found  some  protection  un- 
der it.  Their  chief  dependence  was  on  the  strong  attachment 
of  the  populace,  with  whom  theatrical  performances  were  as 
much  in  favor  as  bear-baiting,  and  but  little  more  reputable. 
After  Shakespeare  had  been  on  the  stage  about  ten  years,  he 
was  obliged  to  join  his  comrades  in  a  very  humble  petition  to 
the  Privy  Council,  because  some  of  the  inhabitants  of  Black- 
friars,  where  their  playhouse  was  situated,  had  sent  in  a  for- 
mal remonstrance,  not  only  against  the  repairing  and  enlarge- 
ment of  the  building,  a  work  which  had  been  already  begun, 
but  against  any  more  dramatic  performances.  By  the  staid 
and  respectable  citizens  of  those  days,  the  theatre  was  evi- 
dently regarded  as  a  mere  nuisance.  The  Council  granted 
the  petition  of  the  actors  so  far  as  to  allow  the  repairs  to  be 
completed,  but  forbade  the  contemplated  enlargement  of  the 
house. 

Little  honor,  but  much  profit,  was  to  be  expected  from  writ- 
ing plays  under  these  circumstances.  Such  was  evidently 
Shakespeare's  mode  of  looking  at  the  matter  ;  and  many  of 
his  characteristics  as  a  dramatist  may  be  partially  accounted 
for  by  this  explanation  of  his  purpose.  Hence  the  wildness, 
freedom,  and  sweetness  of  his  style,  uncurbed  by  critics'  rules ; 
hence  the  mixture  of  tragedy  and  comedy,  —  the  repetition  of 
favorite  characters,  like  Falstaff  with  his  attendants,  in  sev- 
eral plays,1  —  the  frequent  introduction  of  a  clown  or  jester, 

1  The  title-padres  of  the  surreptitious  quarto  editions  of  the  plays  which  were 
published  in  Shakespeare's  lifetime  are  very  significant,  for  they  show  which 
characters  in  them  had  especially  commended  them  to  the  favor  of  the  populace. 
Thus,  in  1598,  we  have  an  edition  of  "  The  History  of  Hcnrie  the  Fourth;  with 
the  battell  at  Shrtwsburie,  bttwetne  the  Kin'j  and  Lord  Henry  Percy,  surnamed 


RESTORATION   OF   THE   TEXT   OF   SHAKESPEARE.  461 

and  of  scraps  of  old  ballads  or  songs  ;  hence  the  verbal  quips 
and  conceits,  the  presence  of  which  we  now  regard  as  a  blem- 
ish ;  hence,  also,  the  choice  of  the  subjects  of  his  plays,  most  of 
which  are  drawn  from  popular  stories  and  legends,  and  from 
the  history  of  England,  which,  even  as  late  as  Heury  VIII., 
had  already  become  legendary  in  the  memory  of  the  illiterate 
populace.  We  have  no  doubt  that  the  Porter's  speech  in 
Macbeth,  which  has  justly  given  so  much  offence,  was  written 
to  please  that  least  reputable  portion  of  a  theatrical  audience, 
which  is  accommodated  nowadays  in  the  shilling  gallery,  and 
was  designed  to  be  omitted  when  the  play  was  performed  at 
court,  or  at  a  nobleman's  house.  When  he  wrote  exclusively 

Ilenrie  Hotspur  of  the  North.  With  the  humorous  conceits  of  Sir  John  Falstalffe." 
In  1600,  we  have  "  The  Second  Part  of  Ilenrie  the  fourth,  continuing  to  his  death 
and  coronation  of  Ilenrie  the  h'ft.  With  the  humours  of  Sir  John  f'iilstti[fn  and 
swaggering  Pistoll."  The  title-page  of  Henry  the  Fifth,  published  the  same  year, 
does  not  fail  to  specify  "  his  battell  fought  at  Agin  Court  in  France.  Tmjether 
with  Auntient  Pistoll."  Still  more  promising  in  its  adaptation  to  the  tastes  of  the 
populace  was  the  hill  of  fare  for  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  which  was  first 
printed  in  lf>02  :  "A  most  pleasauut  and  excellent  conceited  Comedie,  of  Syr 
John  Falstaffe  and  the  merrie  Wives  of  Windsor.  Entermixed  with  sundrie  va- 
riable and  pleasing  humors,  of  Syr  Hugh  the  Welch  Knight,  Justice  Shallow, 
aud  his  wise  Cousiii  M.  Slender.  With  the  swaggering  vaine  of  A  undent  Pistoll 
and  Corporall  Xym."  If  this  seems  too  much  like  a  modern  title-page  to  Mother 
Goose,  it  should  be  remembered  that  the  populace  are  always  children,  and 
Shakespeare  certainly  treated  them  like  children  when  catering  for  their  tastes. 

How  he  pressed  English  history  into  his  service  when  laboring  for  the  same  end, 
may  be  further  conjectured  from  the  title-page  of  Richard  III.,  first  published  in 
1597.  "  The  Tragedy  of  King  Richard  the  third.  Containing,  His  treacherous 
plots  against  his  brother  Clarence  ;  the  pitticf  nil  murthcr  of  his  innocent  nephews ; 
his  tyrannicall  vsnrpation  :  with  the  whole  course  of  his  detested  life,  and  most  de- 
served death."  This  reads  like  an  extract  from  Dickens's  "  Child's  History  of 
England."  To  the  vulgar,  history,  even  that  of  their  own  country,  is  only  a  great 
story-book,  not  a  whit  more  authentic,  and  certainly  not  more  entertaining,  than 
Shakespeare's  plays  or  Scott's  novels.  We  think  that  a  sufficient  argument  might 
be  founded  on  this  very  title-page  against  the  whimsical  Horace  Walpole's  "  His- 
toric Doubts  "  respecting  Richard  III.  ;  for  it  shows  what  was  the  universal  im- 
pression of  the  great  body  of  the  illiterate  English  people  respecting  that  sov- 
ereign only  about  a  hundred  years  after  his  death,  —  a  period  surely  not  too  long 
for  a  very  accurate  portraiture  of  him  te  be  handed  down  in  household  tra- 
dition. The  grandfathers,  if  not  the  fathers,  of  some  of  those  who  first  saw 
Kit-hard  III.  played  at  the  Blackfriars  Theatre,  might  have  told  their  children 
how  the  crooked-backed  tyrant  looked  just  before  the  battle  of  Bosworth  Field. 
There  was  much  truth  as  well  as  point  in  the  reply  of  a  statesman,  who,  when 
challenged  for  an  authority  respecting  an  alleged  fact  in  English  historv,  boldly 
answered,  "  Shakespeare's  Flays,  —  the  only  History  of  England  I  ever  read." 


462         THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  COMMENTATORS: 

for  "  gentle  "  readers,  and  designed  to  dedicate  his  perform- 
ance to  a  nobleman,  Shakespeare's  tone  and  manner  were 
very  different.  Witness  either  the  Venus  and  Adonis,  or  the 
Lucrece,  which  are  perfectly  regular  poems,  very  uniform  in 
versification,  and  showing  artistic  unity  in  the  plot  and  em- 
bellishments. The  remai-k  may  appear  a  bold  one,  but  we 
fully  believe  that  Shakespeare  no  more  thought  of  publishing 
his  Plays,  than  the  late  Joe  Grimaldi  did  of  printing  his 
Pantomimes.  They  were  designed  exclusively  for  the  stage, 
and  for  the  exclusive  benefit  of  the  theatrical  company  to 
which  their  author  belonged.  They  ivere  not  intended  to  add 
to  his  reputation,  but  to  fill  his  purse  ;  and  this  purpose  they 
accomplished  admirably. 

Shakespeare  came  up  to  London  a  penniless  young  man,  his 
father  being  on  the  verge  of  bankruptcy,  and  a  stain  resting  on 
his  own  character  from  the  youthful  indiscretions  which  had 
forced  him  into  an  ill-assorted  marriage,  at  the  age  of  eighteen, 
with  a  woman  older  than  himself,  and  had  made  the  most  in- 
fluential country  gentleman  in  the  neighborhood  of  his  birth- 
place his  implacable  enemy.  The  only  friends  he  could  claim 
in  the  great  metropolis  were  the  players  whose  acquaintance 
he  had  made,  when,  in  the  course  of  an  itinerant  round  of  per- 
formances, they  had  visited  his  native  village ;  and  his  only 
resource  was  to  join  their  company,  and  make  himself  useful 
in  the  best  way  he  could.  His  post  at  first  was  an  humble 
one,  for  he  was  reckoned  only  as  the  twelfth  in  a  company  of 
sixteen  members ;  but  he  rose  rapidly.  "  In  1596,  he  was 
fifth  in  a  company  of  eight  members  ;  and  in  1603,  he  was 
second  in  a  company  of  nine  members."  Only  eleven  years 
after  his  seemingly  desperate  attempt  to  seek  his  fortune  in 
the  metropolis,  he  had  become  rich  enough  to  buy  "  New 
Place,"  a  "  great  house  "  in  his  native  town,  and  establish  his 
family  in  it ;  and  five  years  afterwards,  he  bought  one  hundred 
and  seven  acres  of  neighboring  land,  and  attached  it  to  his 
dwelling.  In  less  than  a  twelvemonth,  he  purchased  two 
other  tenements  in  Stratford,  so  that  he  was  now  a  considera- 
ble land-owner.  After  making  a  very  cautious  estimate,  Mr. 
Collier  considers  £400  a  year  (equal  to  at  least  <£1,GOO,  or 
$8,000,  at  the  present  value  of  money)  the  very  lowest  amount 


RESTORATION   OF    THE   TEXT   OF   SHAKESPEARE.  463 

at  which  his  income  can  be  reckoned  in  1608.  Ward,  who 
was  vicar  of  Stratford-upon-Avon  less  than  fifty  years  after 
Shakespeare's  death,  says  his  income  was  so  large  u  that  he 
spent  at  the  rate  of  £1,000  a  year,  as  I  have  heard."  At 
the  early  age  of  forty-eight,  still  in  the  prime  of  his  physical 
and  mental  strength,  but  seemingly  thinking  that  he  was  rich 
enough  and  had  worked  long  enough,  he  dissolved  his  connec- 
tion with  the  playhouse,  quitted  London,  and  went  down  to 
end  his  days  in  quiet  and  inglorious  ease  at  his  native  place, 
apparently  unconscious  that  he  had  done  anything  extraordi- 
nary. His  Plays —  the  foundation  upon  which  has  since  risen 
the  towering  fabric  of  a  reputation  "  the  greatest  in  our  liter- 
ature, the  greatest  in  all  literature  "  —  were  carelessly  left  be- 
hind in  London,  for  his  old  associates  to  do  with  them  whatso- 
ever they  would,  —  the  larger  number  of  them  still  existing 
only  in  manuscript,  in  carelessly  written  playhouse  copies, — 
the  others  in  print,  indeed,  but  only  in  pirated,  unfaithful,  and 
curiously  maimed  and  distorted  editions. 

And  in  manuscript,  or  in  these  "  stolen  and  surreptitious 
copies,  maimed  and  deformed  by  the  frauds  and  stealths  of 
injurious  impostors,  that  exposed  them,"  they  remained  till 
Shakespeare's  death,  and  for  seven  years  afterwards.  He 
seems  not  to  have  bestowed  another  thought  upon  them  after 
quitting  London  in  1612.  He  gave  no  direction  about  them 
in  his  will,  whence  we  infer  that  his  right  of  ownership  in 
them  had  ceased,  probably  as  soon  as  he  sold  out  his  other 
theatrical  property.  "  Sundry  manuscript  plays"  were  perhaps 
enumerated  in  the  inventory,  together  with  "  the  wardrobe  and 
properties  of  the  same  playhouse,"  estimated  at  £500,  and 
four  out  of  the  twenty  shares  into  which  the  joint  stock  was 
divided,  when  the  whole  pecuniary  interest  of  William  Shake- 
speare in  the  Blackfriars  and  Globe  Theatres  was  disposed  of 
to  his  old  associates  or  successors.  Prospero  broke  his  staff, 
abjured  his  magic,  and  though  he  did  not  exactly  "drown  his 
book,"  he  certainly  took  as  little  care  of  it  as  if  he  had  thrown 
it  overboard.  Its  new  owners  guarded  their  acquisition  with 
more  watchfulness  than  its  author  had  shown.  '•'  With  the 
single  exception  of  Othello,  which  came  out  in  quarto  in  1622, 
no  other  new  drama  by  Shakespeare  appeared  in  a  printed 


464  THE   BATTLE   OF   THE    COMMENTATORS: 

form  between  1609  and  the  date  of  the  publication  of  the  folio 
in  1623."  The  editors  of  this  noted  volume,  the  chief  source 
of  "the  received  text"  of  the  plays,  were  Heminge  and  Con- 
dell,  two  of  Shakespeare's  old  associates  in  the  theatre.  In 
dedicating  it  to  the  Earls  of  Pembroke  and  Montgomery,  they 
represent  themselves  only  as  performing  a  pious  "office  to  the 
dead, —  to  procure  his  Orphans,"  (as  they  appropriately  term 
these  abandoned  children  of  his  brain,)  "Guardians;  without 
ambition  either  of  selfe-profit  or  fame :  onely  to  keep  the  mem- 
ory of  so  worthy  a  Friend  and  Fellow  alive,  as  was  our  Shake- 
speare, by  humble  offer  of  his  plays  to  your  most  noble  pat- 
ronage." This  was  a  very  proper  tone  for  them  to  assume; 
but  if  they  did  not  act  for  "  selfe-profit,"  they  certainly  had  no 
regard  for  the  interest  or  rights  of  Shakespeare's  heirs  and 
natural  representatives.  Whatever  profit  may  have  accrued 
from  the  publication  was  shared  between  the  printers  and 
themselves. 

Other  playwrights  seem  to  have  been  as  careless  as  Shake- 
speare was  about  the  fate  in  print  of  their  dramatic  perform- 
ances, however  anxious  they  may  have  been  for  success  on 
the  staye.  If  the  play  had  been  performed  and  applauded  by 
the  audience,  and  had  thus  put  money  in  the  author's  purse, 
it  had  done  its  work  ;  no  gain  in  point  of  literary  reputation 
was  to  be  expected  from  printing  what  belonged  to  a  depart- 
ment of  literature  that  was  held  in  so  light  esteem  as  stage- 
plays.  Opinion  on  this  point  was  just  the  reverse  of  what  it 
is  nowadays,  when  poets,  like  Byron,  Coleridge,  and  Brown- 
ing, write  dramas  to  be  printed,  but  not  to  be  performed. 
When  "  The  Rape  of  Lucrece,"  by  Thomas  Heywood,  was 
first  printed,  in  1608,  its  author  took  the  unusual  course  of 
informing  the  public,  in  the  Preface,  that  he  had  consented 
to  its  publication.  Yet  the  impression  is  full  of  the  grossest 
blunders,  so  that  we  may  be  sure  he  did  not  think  it  necessaiy 
even  to  see  the  proof-sheets.  Mr.  Collier  says  this  edition, 
"  with  the  author's  imprimatur,  is,  we  think,  the  worst  speci- 
men of  typography  that  ever  met  our  observation." 

'•We  cannot  wonder,"  adds  Mr.  Collier,  '-at  the  errors  in  plays 
surreptitiously  procured  and  hastilv  printed,  which  was  the  case  with 
many  impressions  of  that  day.  Upon  this  point,  Heywood  is  an 
unexceptionable  witness  ;  and  he  tells  us  of  one  of  his  dramas, 


RESTORATION   OF   THE   TEXT   OF   SHAKESPEARE.  465 

'  that  some  by  stenography  drew 
The  plot,  put  in  print,  scarce  one  word  true.' 

Other  dramatists  make  the  same  complaint ;  and  there  can  be  no 
doubt  that  it  was  the  practice  so  to  defraud  authors  and  actors,  and 
to  palm  wretchedly  disfigured  pieces  upon  the  public  as  genuine  and 
authentic  works." 

Plsiys  were  falsely  attributed  to  Shakespeare,  and  published 
with  his  name  on  the  title-page,  in  which  it  is  certain  that  he 
had  had  no  hand  whatever.  Yet  he  seems  to  have  taken  no 
pains  to  expose  the  fraud,  or  to  relieve  himself  from  the  im- 
putation of  having  written  what  would  surely  have  done  him 
little  credit.  We  ought  not  to  wonder,  then,  that,  when  by 
the  fraud  of  printers,  and  perhaps  by  the  connivance  of  some 
of  the  inferior  actors,  very  imperfect  and  disfigured  copies  of 
his  dramas  got  abroad,  and  were  published  in  quarto  as  his 
genuine  productions,  he  did  not  disavow  them,  or  complain  of 
the  blunders,  as  Heywood  did,  but  allowed  them  to  pass  un- 
noticed. Sixteen  of  his  plays  were  thus  printed  in  quarto 
during  his  lifetime  ;  and  with  the  addition  of  Othello,  which 
was  thus  printed  in  1622,  they  formed  the  only  means  which 
the  public  had  of  judging  his  performances,  except  from  their 
representation  on  the  stage,  till  the  appearance  of  the  first 
folio  edition  of  all  his  dramas,  in  1623.  Many  of  these  plays 
in  the  quarto  form  passed  through  several  editions,  the  later 
issue  being  sometimes  a  mere  reprint  of  the  former,  and 
sometimes  claiming  to  be  "  newly  corrected,  augmented,  and 
amended."  With  regard  to  the  whole  sixteen,'  we  find  no 
reason  to  doubt  the  positive  assertion  of  Heminge  and  Con- 
dell,  the  editors  of  the  first  folio,  that  they  were  "  stolen  and 
surreptitious  copies,  maimed  and  deformed  by  the  frauds  and 
stealths  of  injurious  impostors."  Some  of  them  do  not  con- 
tain much  more  than  skeletons  of  the  plays  as  they  now  exist, 
and  are  also  deformed  with  blunders  so  gross  that  they  cannot 
be  accounted  for  except  on  the  supposition,  favored  by  the 
lines  already  quoted  from  Heywood,  that  they  were  copied 
out,  in  part  at  least,  by  stenography,  from  the  recitation  by 
the  players  ;  and,  of  course,  that  many  passages  were  imper- 
fectly heard  and  imperfectly  preserved.  Others  may  have 
been  printed,  in  part,  from  imperfect  playhouse  copies,  sur- 

30 


466  THE  BATTLE   OF   THE  COMMENTATORS: 

reptitiously  obtained  ;  that  is,  from  transcripts  of  only  one 
part,  or  of  the  speeches  belonging  to  one  personage  in  the 
drama,  as  they  were  copied  out  to  be  studied  by  individual 
performers.  Copy  for  the  printers  may  also  have  been  ob.- 
tained,  or  corrected,  by  inducing  some  of  the  actors  to  repeat 
their  parts  slowly  at  an  alehouse  or  tavern,  so  that  the  words 
could  be  taken  down.  A  very  defective  copy,  obtained  by 
the  first  of  these  methods,  for  the  earliest  edition  in  quarto, 
may  have  been  subsequently  "  augmented  and  amended  "  by 
the  other  expedients,  for  the  later  issues.  Mr.  Charles  Knight, 
a  strenuous  defender  of  the  untenable  hypothesis  that  Shake- 
speare himself  authorized  some  of  these  quarto  publications, 
and  even  furnished  the  manuscript  for  them,  they  being  the 
first  rude  sketch  of  dramas  which  he  afterwards  greatly  en- 
larged and  improved,  is  obliged  to  confess  that  five  out  of  the 
sixteen  were  certainly  pirated  and  extremely  defective  edi- 
tions. 

We  consider  Knight's  hypothesis  untenable,  because  it  is 
very  unlikely  that  Shakespeare,  who  allowed  the  grandest 
productions  of  his  mature  genius,  like  Macbeth,  the  Tem- 
pest, Othello,  Julius  Caasar,  and  many  others,  to  remain  in 
manuscript  throughout  his  lifetime,  and  who  left  no  direc- 
tions about  publishing  them  even  in  his  will,  should  have 
voluntarily  given  to  the  world  the  first  rude  sketches  of  his 
earlier  plays,  —  sketches  which  soon  appeared  to  him  so  im- 
perfect that  they  needed  to  be  entirely  rewritten  before  they 
could  keep  their  place  even  upon  the  stage.  Besides,  it  may 
reasonably  be  doubted  whether  Shakespeare  ever  retraced  his 
steps,  and  took  up  again,  for  more  elaborate  and  careful  treat- 
ment, a  subject  which  he  had  once  dismissed  as  a  drama  fit  for 
representation.  He  rewrote,  indeed,  the  plays  of  others  ;  but 
we  have  direct  and  unimpeachable  evidence  that  he  did  not 
rewrite  a  speech,  a  line,  or  a  word  in  a  play  of  his  own.  More 
than  any  secular  writer  whom  the  world  has  known,  he  real- 
ized the  theory  of  inspiration.  Heminge  and  Condell,  his  asso- 
ciates and  the  editors  of  the  first  complete  edition  of  his  plays, 
inform  us  explicitly,  that  "what  lie  thought  he  uttered  with 
that  easiness  that  ire  have  scarce  received  from  him  a  blot  in 
his  papers"  And  Ben  Jonson,  also  his  intimate  friend,  says, 


RESTORATION   OF   THE   TEXT   OF   SHAKESPEARE.  467 

"  I  remember  the  players  have  often  mentioned  it  as  an  honor 
to  Shakespeare,  that  in  his  writing  (whatsoever  he  penned) 
he  never  blotted  out  a  line."  Honest  Ben  directly  adds,  it  is 
true,  "  My  answer  hath  been,  Would  he  had  blotted  a  thou- 
sand !  "  But  Shakespeare  and  he  had  very  different  notions 
of  composition.  His  dramas  were  wrought  out,  as  if  he  had 
been  still  piling  bricks,  with  the  sweat  of  his  brow  ;  while  the 
thoughts  of  the  gentle  bard  of  Avon  voluntarily  "  moved  har- 
monious numbers.''  Jonson  may  have  rewritten  his  plays,  but 
Shakespeare  never. 

With  regard  to  the  quarto  editions,  whether  they  were  all 
pirated  or  not,  it  is  indisputable  that  they  are  lamentably 
maimed,  botched,  and  defective.  The  first  of  them  was  Ro- 
meo and  Juliet,  which  appeared  in  1597,  seven  or  eight  years 
after  Shakespeare  began  to  write  for  the  stage.  Two  years 
afterwards,  a  second  edition  of  the  same  play  appeared,  claim- 
ing to  be  "  newly  corrected,  augmented,  and  amended ;  "  and 
in  three  subsequent  issues,  the  "augmentations"  had  become 
so  large,  that  while,  in  Stevens's  reprint,  the  first  edition  occu- 
pies only  seventy-three  pages,  the  edition  of  1609,  reprinted  in 
the  same  volume  and  same  type,  fills  ninety-nine  pages.  Some 
of  these  augmentations,  as  Mr.  Knight  says,  "  are  amongst  the 
most  masterly  passages  in  the  whole  play  ;  "  but  he  forgets  to 
add,  that  there  are  others  which  are  not  much  needed,  and  are 
are  hardly  worthy  to  be  Shakespeare's  first  thought,  much  less 
his  second.  And  even  the  more  imaginative  and  exquisite  lines 
which  first  appear  in  the  later  edition  are,  for  the  most  part, 
but  additions  of  considerable  length  to  speeches  and  solilo- 
quies, which,  to  an  impatient  copyist  hastily  taking  down  the 
words  from  the  player's  recital,  might  appear  tedious  and 
unnecessary  for  the  full  development  of  the  plot  or  distinct 
portraiture  of  the  characters.  Thus,  the  long  speech  of  tho 
Friar,  in  the  opening  scene  of  the  fourth  act,  is  expanded  from 
thirteen  lines  in  the  first  publication,  to  thirty-three  in  the  edition 
of  1609.  It  is  far  more  likely  that  the  copyist  omitted  the 
twenty  lines  in  the  former  case,  than  that  Shakespeare  added 
them  in  the  latter,  as  they  are  not  wanted  for  the  business  of 
the  plot,  and  are  rather  an  impediment  if  the  drama  be  con- 
sidered as  an  actiny  one.  Juliet's  soliloquy,  in  the  third  scene 


468  THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   COMMENTATORS  : 

of  the  same  act,  was  retrenched  in  a  similar  manner  by  the 
copyist  for  the  first  edition  in  quarto,  after  he  had  given  all 
the  necessary  points  in  it  to  enable  the  reader  to  understand 
the  progress  of  the  incidents.  Shakespeare  did  not  rewrite 
his  plays  for  the  mere  purpose  of  eking  out  long  speeches  with 
poetical  tail-pieces.  Passionate  and  wildly  fanciful  as  the 
lines  are,  which  were  first  printed  in  the  later  quarto,  they 
are  but  the  natural  —  the  inevitable  —  completion  of  Juliet's 
thought  as  the  mighty  master  conceived  it. 

Hamlet  was  first  printed  in  quarto  in  1603,  and  was  re- 
printed in  the  same  form  the  next  year,  with  the  following  ad- 
dition to  the  title-page  :  "  newly  imprinted,  and  enlarged  to 
almost  as  much  ayaine  as  it  u'as,  according  to  the  true  and  per- 
fect Coppie."  Here  we  have  a  very  distinct  assertion  that  the 
first  quarto  was  not  a  true  and  perfect  copy,  and  we  know 
that  it  does  not  contain  much  more  than  half  of  the  play  as  it 
now  exists.  Even  Mr.  Knight,  therefore,  is  obliged  to  confess 
that  it  was  piratical,  and  that  it  may  have  been  "  published  in 
haste  from  a  short-hand  copy,  taken  from  the  mouths  of  the 
players  ;  "  though  he  still  adheres  to  the  hypothesis,  in  this 
case  utterly  indefensible,  that  the  Hamlet  enacted  on  the  stage 
in  or  before  1603,  from  which  this  stolen  short-hand  copy  was 
taken,  was  not  the  Hamlet  which  we  now  have,  but  only  an 
immature  first  draft,  —  the  earliest  conception,  and  compar- 
atively feeble  expression,  of  what  was  afterwards  wrought  into 
a  noble  drama.  In  other  words,  he  maintains  that  the  defi- 
ciencies of  the  first  quarto  are  attributable  to  the  piratical 
copyist  in  some  small  degree  indeed,  but  in  great  part  to 
Shakespeare  himself,  who  had  already,  and  even  some  years 
before,  written  such  plays  as  Henry  IV.,  The  Midsummer 
Night's  Dream,  King  John,  and  The  Merchant  of  Venice.  He 

o  *  o 

confesses  that  "  all  the  action  of  the  amended  Hamlet  is  to  be 
found  in  the  first  sketch  ;  "  so  that  Shakespeare  rewrote  the 
piece,  in  this  instance  as  in  the  former  one,  merely  for  the  pur- 
pose of  lengthening  out  the  speeches  with  poetical  imaginings 
and  philosophical  aphorisms,  leaving  the  plot  and  the  charac- 
ters just  as  they  were  before.  Among  the  many  puerile  con- 
ceits and  baseless  suppositions  of  the  commentators  on  Shake- 
speare, this  hypothesis  stands  unmatched  for  absurdity. 


RESTORATION  OF  THE  TEXT  OF  SHAKESPEARE.      469 

We  lay  it  down  almost  as  an  axiom,  then,  that  whenever  the 
early  quarto  editions  fail  to  give,  even  in  a  perverted  and  mis- 
printed condition,  the  whole  text  as  we  now  possess  it,  the  omis- 
sions and  deficiencies  are  attributable  solely  to  "  the  frauds 
and  stealths  of  the  injurious  impostors  "  who  published  them. 
Several  of  these  editions  are  confessedly  complete,  or  nearly 
so,  being  probably  derived  from  full  playhouse  copies  that 
had  been  surreptitiously  obtained,  though  the  printers  sadly 
marred  and  defaced  them  on  the  published  pages.  But  others 
are  so  imperfect,  that,  if  we  depended  for  the  text  upon  them 
alone,  Shakespeare  would  seem  to  fall  to  the  level  of  a  second- 
rate  dramatist.  The  first  quarto  of  Romeo  and  Juliet,  as  we 
have  seen,  contains  only  about  three  fourths  of  the  text ;  the 
first  Hamlet  only  about  half.  The  quarto  Henry  V.  contains 
only  about  eighteen  hundred  lines,  while  the  perfect  text  has 
thirty-five  hundred.  Mai  one  justly  says,  "  The  quarto  copy 
of  this  play  is  manifestly  an  imperfect  transcript  procured  by 
some  fraud,  and  not  a  first  draught  or  hasty  sketch  of  Shake- 
speare's. The  choruses,  which  are  wanting  in  it,  and  which 
must  have  been  written  in  1599,  before  the  quarto  was  printed, 
prove  this."  The  folio  Othello  has  one  hundred  and  sixty- 
three  lines  that  are  not  in  the  quarto ;  and  as  the  quarto  of 
this  play  was  published  six  years  after  Shakespeare's  death, 
and  only  one  year  before  the  folio,  Mr.  Knight  is  obliged  to 
abandon  his  hypothesis,  and  to  acknowledge  that  the  earlier 
edition  was  piratical  and  defective.  Richard  II.  in  the  first 
quarto  is  defective  by  a  whole  scene,  containing  one  hundred 
and  fifty-four  lines  ;  and  the  Second  Part  of  Henry  IV.,  as 
printed  in  the  folio,  has  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  lines  that 
are  not  in  the  quarto.  The  quarto  Lear  omits  only  about  fifty 
lines  of  the  genuine  text ;  but  its  surreptitious  and  defective 
origin  is  still  more  clearly  indicated  by  another  peculiarity, 
which  we  will  allow  Mr.  Knight  to  describe. 

"  In  the  quarto  text,  the  metrical  arrangement  is  one  mass  of  con- 
fusion. Speech  after  speech,  and  scene  after  scene,  which  in  the  gen- 
uine  copy  of  the  folio  are  metrically  correct,  are,  in  the  quarto,  either 
printed  as  prose,  or  the  lines  are  so  mixed  together,  without  any  ap- 
parent knowledge  in  the  editor  of  the  metrical  laws  l>y  which  they 
were  constructed,  that  it  would  have  been  almost  impossible,  from  this 


470         THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  COMMENTATORS: 

text  alone,  to  have  reduced  them  to  anything  like  the  form  in  which 
they  were  written  by  the  author.  This  circumstance  appears  to  us 
conclusive,  that  these  quarto  copies  could  not  have  been  printed  from  the 
author's  manuscript.'" 

Summing  up  the  whole  matter,  then,  we  may  ask,  What 
would  be  the  state  of  Shakespeare's  text,  if  we  were  obliged 
to  depend  solely  upon  the  editions  that  were  published  in  his 
lifetime  f  In  the  first  place,  twenty  of  his  plays,  many  of 
which  are  among  the  noblest  of  his  efforts,  would  be  lost  to 
us  altogether.  For  the  text  of  The  Tempest,  As  You  Like 
It,  Twelfth  Night,  Winter's  Tale,  King  John,  Julius  Csesar, 
Macbeth,  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  Cymbeline,  and  eleven  oth- 
ers, we  are  dependent  solely  on  the  folio  of  1623.  In  the 
second  place,  the  sixteen  plays  that  were  printed  while  their 
author  was  yet  living  are  all  piratical  copies,  obtained  by 
stealth  and  by  expedients  obviously  so  incompetent  to  furnish 
an  accurate  copy,  that  hardly  a  line  in  them  can  safely  be  pro- 
nounced to  exist  just  as  Shakespeare  wrote  it,  except  upon 
internal  evidence,  or  from  its  agreement  with  the  copy  of  the 
same  play  which  is  found  in  the  folio. 

The  next  question  that  arises  is,  How  perfect  is  the  text  of 
the  plays  in  the  folio  of  1623?  It  is  comparatively  little  to 
say,  that  Heminge  and  Condell,  the  editors  of  that  volume, 
seem  to  have  limited  their  efforts  to  merely  supplying  the 
printers  with  the  playhouse  manuscript  copies,  such  as  they 
then  were,  of  all  the  dramas,  and  not  to  have  troubled  them- 
selves at  all  about  the  correction  of  the  press.  Glaring  typo- 
graphical blunders  abound  in  it ;  verse  is  printed  as  prose,  and 
prose  as  verse  ;  the  punctuation  throughout  seems  to  have  been 
made  at  haphazard  ;  words  are  omitted,  mistaken,  and  trans- 
posed ;  and  sometimes  the  types  appear  to  have  been  jumbled 
together  into  what  bears  hardly  the  semblance  of  a  word.  A 
more  important  consideration  is  the  state  of  the  manuscripts 
which  were  furnished  to  the  printers.  In  1612,  Shakespeare 
ceased  writing,  gave  up  all  connection  with  the  theatre,  and, 
of  course,  with  his  plays,  and  retired  from  London  ;  and  in 
1616,  he  died.  It  follows,  that  all  the  twenty  plays  which 
were  first  printed  in  the  folio  had  existed  in  manuscript,  with- 
out being  seen  by  their  author,  for  at  least  eleven  years,  and 


RESTORATION   OF   THE   TEXT   OF    SHAKESPEARE.  471 

some  of  thorn  for  a  much  longer  period.  The  Two  Gentle- 
men of  Verona,  for  instance,  was  probably  written  about 
1502.  and  had  therefore  existed  only  in  written  copies  for 
thirty-two  years;  Measure  for  Measure  and  the  Comedy  of 
Errors  had  thus  existed  for  over  twenty  years.  The  Globe 
Theatre  was  burnt  down  in  1613,  and  it  is  more  than  prob- 
able that  all  of  Shakespeare's  original  manuscripts,  which  had 
survived  to  that  period,  were  then  destroyed.  The  written 
copies  were  multiplied  by  careless  transcribers  for  the  use  of 
the  different  performers,  sometimes  the  whole  being  copied 
out,  at  other  times,  only  the  part  of  one  of  the  personages  in 
the  drama.  The  prompter's  books  were  probably  complete, 
while  those  used  by  individual  actors  were  more  or  less  defect- 
ive. Alterations  and  omissions  were  made  from  time  to  time, 
to  adapt  the  performance  to  the  varying  exigencies  of  the  the- 
atre or  the  altered  taste  of  the  times.  We  have  a  slight  but 
curious  indication  of  the  improved  morality  of  the  English 
populace,  consequent  upon  the  diffusion  of  Puritanic  feelings 
and  opinions  under  James  I.,  in  the  fact,  that  not  a  few  of  the 
expressions  in  the  play  of  Henry  IV.,  as  they  appear  in  the 
quartos,  and  which  were  thought  profane,  especially  some  of 
the  ejaculations  of  Falstaff,  were,  in  the  folio,  softened  or  ex- 
punged. Such  expurgations,  as  they  do  not  affect  either  the 
wit  or  the  sense,  are  not  to  be  regretted.  But  there  were 
others  which  are  more  serious. 

To  shorten  the  performance,  portions  of  long  speeches,  and 
even  parts  of  the  dialogue,  were  marked  to  be  omitted  by  the 
actors  in  recitation  ;  and  when  new  copies  came  to  be  made, 
to  replace  those  which  had  been  lost  or  worn  out,  the  copyist 
omitted  to  transcribe  what  had  ceased  to  be  acted.  We  have 
said  that  Lear,  in  the  folio,  contains  about  fifty  lines  that  are 
not  in  the  quarto  ;  and  we  must  now  add,  that  the  quarto  has 
about  two  hundred  and  twenty-five  lines,  which  are  indisput- 
ably Shakespeare's,  that  are  not  in  the  folio.  The  omissions 
were  probably  made  to  shorten  the  performance,  as,  without 
them,  Lear  is  the  longest  of  the  author's  plays  except  Hamlet. 
The  passages  that  were  struck  out  are  chiefly  descriptive, 
everything  being  retained  which  was  necessary  to  the  progress 
of  the  action  or  to  the  development  of  character.  But  among 


472         THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  COMMENTATORS: 

them  are  some  of  the  most  masterly  passages  in  the  drama, 
rich  in  the  inexhaustible  wealth  of  Shakespeare's  imagination, 
and  glowing  with  the  fire  of  passion.  Thus,  the  whole  of  the 
third  scene  of  the  fourth  act,  containing  "  a  Gentleman's  "  in- 
imitable description,  given  to  Kent,  of  the  manner  in  which 
Cordelia,  in  France,  received  the  news  of  her  father's  mal- 
treatment by  her  sisters,  is  left  out  in  the  folio,  —  pei'haps  for 
the  very  reason  that  the  passage  is  so  beautiful  and  striking, 
that  it  would  infallibly  have  been  marred  in  the  delivery  by 
such  an  actor  as  was  thought  competent  to  play  the  very  in- 
ferior part  of  an  anonymous  gentleman.  And  yet  that  most 
unhappy  editor,  Mr.  Knight,  blindly  and  stubbornly  support- 
ing his  hypothesis  that  the  author  revised  and  altered  the  text 
of  his  own  dramas,  strenuously  maintains  that  the  omission  of 
this  exquisite  scene  was  Shakespeare's  own  act,  —  his  only 
reason  being  that  it  is  "purely  descriptive;"  and  he  "  cannot 
avoid  believing,  that  the  poet  sternly  resolved  to  let  the  effect 
of  this  wonderful  drama  entirely  depend  upon  its  action"! 
AVe  should  not  be  surprised  to  hear  that  Mr.  Knight  "  cannot 
avoid  believing "  in  Ferdinand  Mendez  Pinto  and  Baron 
Miinchausen. 

In  Richard  II.,  as  it  exists  in  the  folio,  we  do  not  find  about 
fifty  lines  that  are  printed  in  the  quarto.  To  prove  that  they 
were  omitted  only  to  shorten  the  performance,  and  not  because 
they  contained  blemishes  or  were  supposed  not  to  be  genuine, 
we  need  only  quote  five  of  them,  contained  in  Richard's  speech 
when  he  banishes  Bolingbroke :  — 

"  And  for  we  think  the  eagle-winged  pride 
Of  sky-aspiring  and  ambitious  thoughts, 
With  rival-hating  envy,  set  you  on 
To  wake  our  peace,  which  in  our  country's  cradle 
Draws  the  sweet  infant  breath  of  gentle  sleep ;  "  etc. 

The  earliest  quarto  edition  of  Hamlet,  as  we  have  noticed,  is 
a  very  imperfect  one;  but  the  second  quarto  is  comparatively 
complete,  and  even  contains  some  two  hundred  lines  which  are 
not  found  in  the  folio.  Among  them  is  the  magnificent  pas- 
sage (in  a  speech  of  Horatio,  Act  I.  Scene  I.,)  describing  the 
omens  that  preceded  the  assassination  of  "the  mightiest  Julius," 
—  a  passage  very  similar  to  a  corresponding  one  in  the  play  of 
Julius  Caesar.  For  example  :  — 


RESTORATION   OF   THE   TEXT    OF    SHAKESPEARE.  473 

"  The  graves  stood  tenantlcss,  and  the  sheeted  dead 
Did  squeak  and  gibber  in  the  Roman  streets." 

Still  more  important  is  the  omission  of  the  whole  scene  that 
contains  the  grand  soliloquy  of  Hamlet,  beginning,  — 

"  How  all  occasions  do  inform  against  me, 
And  spur  my  dull  revenge  !  " 

The  only  motive  for  such  abridgment  must  have  been  the  de- 
sire to  shorten  the  performance  of  this  very  long  play. 

We  need  not  pursue  this  collation,  having  adduced  sufficient 
proof  that  the  folio,  though  much  more  trustworthy  than  the 
quartos,  is  far  from  giving  us  a  text  which  can  be  relied  upon 
for  fulness  and  accuracy.  Of  course,  we  can  trace  the  omis- 
sions of  the  folio  only  in  those  cases,  (and  in  them  but  par- 
tially,) in  which  the  plays  had  been  previously  published. 
How  many  and  how  important  the  abridgments  are  in  the 
twenty  plays  that  were  first  published  in  1623,  we  cannot  even 
conjecture.  But  judging  from  analogy,  even  from  the  few  in- 
stances that  have  here  been  mentioned,  it  is  safe  to  affirm  that 
many  of  the  most  exquisite  passages  that  Shakespeare  ever 
wrote  are  lost  to  us  forever. 

There  is  but  one  other  point  to  be  noticed  in  this  brief 
sketch  of  the  condition  of  the  text  of  our  great  dramatist.  In 
reference  to  quite  a  number  of  plays,  we  are  left  in  doubt 
whether  they  were  written  by  Shakespeare  or  somebody  else, 
or  how  great  his  share  in  them  is,  if  any.  This  doubt  ex- 
ists with  respect  to  five  of  the  plays  which  are  published  as  his 
in  the  folio  of  1623,  viz.  the  Three  Parts  of  Henry  VI.,  Titus 
A ndronicus,  and  Pericles ;  and  there  are  at  least  half  a  dozen 
other  plays,  which,  save  that  they  are  not  inserted  in  Hem- 
inge  and  CondelFs  edition,  have  about  as  good  a  claim  to  be 
considered  his  as  the  poorest  of  these  five.  In  his  capacity  of 
playwright  to  the  theatrical  company  to  which  he  belonged, 
Shakespeare  seems  first  to  have  exercised  his  'prentice  hand  in 
altering  and  adapting  to  the  purposes  of  the  stage  the  produc- 
tions, anonymous  for  the  most  part,  of  other  dramatists.  Be- 
fore giving  birth  to  any  children  of  his  own  brain,  he  adopted 
many  of  the  progeny  of  other  people,  and  sent  them  forth  to 
the  world  with  a  much  fairer  chance  of  life  and  prosperity 
than  they  had  received  from  their  natural  parents.  Some  he 


474         THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  COMMENTATORS: 

rewrote  almost  entirely  ;  but  even  in  these,  some  uncharacter- 
istic defect,  some  meanness  of  phrase  or  poverty  of  thought, 
betrays  their  doubtful  origin,  and  proclaims  them  base-born. 
In  others,  his  amending  hand  is  but  seldom  visible,  and  the 
only  wonder  is  why  their  parentage  was  ever  ascribed  to  him. 
Very  early  in  his  career,  a  sour  and  envious  brother  dramatist 
complained  bitterly  of  him,  as  "  an  upstart  crow,  beautified 
with  our  feathers,"  as  one  of  those  "  puppets  that  speak  from 
our  mouths,  those  anticks  garnished  in  our  feathers ;  "  and 
who,  "  being  an  absolute  Johannes  Fac-totum,  is,  in  his  own 
conceit,  the  only  Shake-scene  in  a  country."  The  charge  of 
plagiarism  that  is  here  insinuated  is  simply  absurd  ;  for  Shake- 
speare gave  away  his  own  property,  instead  of  appropriating 
that  of  other  people.  He  claimed  nothing  in  respect  to  author- 
ship, not  even  that  which  was  wholly  his  own.  He  took  up 
miserable  and  naked  children,  who  were  running  parentless 
and  shivering  through  the  streets,  and,  after  feeding  and  cloth- 
ing them,  sent  them  away  again,  without  giving  them  his 
name,  to  be  fathered  by  any  one  who  might  claim  them.  And 
yet,  as  Mr.  Collier  remarks,  he  was  the  "  Johannes  Fac-totum  " 
of  his  theatrical  associates.  "  He  was  an  actor,  and  he  was  a 
writer  of  original  plays,  an  adapter  and  improver  of  those  al- 
ready in  existence,  (some  of  them  by  Greene,  Marlowe,  Lodge, 
or  Peele,)  and  no  doubt  he  contributed  prologues  or  epilogues, 
and  inserted  scenes,  speeches,  or  passages  on  any  temporary 
emergency."  Because  he  was  so  entirely  careless  about  the 
credit  which  might  accrue  from  such  performances,  what  he 
thus  wrote  has  irrecoverably  perished.  We  know  not  how 
much  the  whole  dramatic  literature  of  the  later  part  of  Eliz- 
abeth's reign,  and  the  early  part  of  James's,  owes  to  Shake- 
speare. Ben  Jon  son  and  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  are  certainly 
under  heavy  obligations  to  him. 

The  conclusion  that  must  be  drawn  from  this  summary  view 
of  the  evidence  is,  that  the  text  of  no  eminent  writer,  whether 
ancient  or  modern,  with  perhaps  the  single  exception  of  JE<s- 
chylus,  has  come  down  to  us  in  so  uncertain,  defective,  and 
corrupt  a  condition  as  that  of  Shakespeare.  The  account 
now  given  will  be  found  fruitful,  if  Ave  mistake  not,  in  im- 
portant inferences  respecting  the  proper  criticism  and  emen- 


RESTORATION  OF  THE  TEXT  OF  SHAKESPEARE.      475 

dation  of  the  text.  And  it  .also  throws  much  light  on  the 
question  which  has  been  so  fiercely  mooted  for  the  last  year 
or  two  between  Mr.  Collier  and  the  other  commentators  on 
Shakespeare. 

Suppose  an  ancient  playhouse  copy  should  be  discovered, 
containing  thousands  of  manuscript  emendations,  which  clear 
up  many  of  the  most  obscure  and  corrupt  places  in  the  text, 
and  which  can  be  traced  back,  by  very  satisfactory  evidence, 
to  a  period  at  least  as  early  as  the  Revolution  of  1688,  and 
perhaps  anterior  even  to  the  Restoration  in  1660.  Such  a 
discovery,  we  might  well  imagine,  would  be  hailed  with  great 
joy  by  the  admirers  of  Shakespeare  all  over  the  civilized  world. 
It  may  seem  strange  and  almost  unaccountable,  then,  that  the 
professed  critics,  commentators,  and  editors  of  Shakespeare's 
text,  who  now  form  a  numerous  and  very  active  class  of  liter- 
ary men,  both  in  England  and  this  country,  far  from  welcom- 
ing the  discovery,  should  manifest  extreme  jealousy  and  irrita- 
tion, and  lend  all  their  efforts  towards  discrediting  the  value 
of  the  newly  found  emendations,  and  impugning  the  character 
of  him  who  brought  them  to  light.  If  a  bomb-shell  had  been 
fired  into  the  critical  camp,  it  could  not  have  raised  a  greater 
commotion  than  the  announcement  of  the  manuscript  correc- 
tions found  in  a  copy  of  the  folio  of  1632.  The  press  could  not 
work  fast  enough  to  give  vent  to  the  indignation  of  the  corps 
of  commentators;  "Remarks,"  "Observations,"  "Criticisms," 
"Vindications,"  etc.,  were  published  faster  than  any  one 
could  read  or  hardly  count  them.  Those  who  could  not  find 
means  to  send  forth  a  book  or  a  pamphlet  had  recourse  to 
the  periodicals  ;  and  the  articles  upon  the  subject  threatened 
to  give  the  public  a  surfeit  of  Shakespearian  literature.  The 
whole  hive  of  critics  appear  to  have  swarmed  for  the  sole  pur- 
pose of  stinging  Mr.  Collier  to  death.  In  the  preface  to  the 
second  edition  of  his  "  Notes  and  Emendations,"  he  remarks, 
with  some  pathos :  — 

"  My  accidental  discovery  of  the  corrected  folio  of  1632  has,  I  fear, 
tended  to  cool  friendships  of  longstanding;  and  individuals  with  whom 
I  was  formerly  acquainted  now  look  upon  me  as  if  I  had  clone  them 
some  personal  injury,  which  they  could  not  overlook,  and  yet  did  not 
know  how  to  revenue." 


476  THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   COMMENTATORS: 

This  onslaught  of  the  whole  body  of  commentators  upon 
one  of  their  fraternity  seems  to  us  not  only  inconsistent  with 
fairness,  but  to  look  too  much  like  an  attempt  to  forestall  pub- 
lic opinion,  and  to  bear  down  reason  and  testimony  by  sheer 
vociferation.  If  we  had  the  Irishman's  disposition  to  be  "  any- 
body's customer  in  a  row,"  we  should  take  up  the  cudgels 
stoutly  in  Mr.  Collier's  defence,  and  think  we  could  make  out 
a  fair  case  for  him.  But  we  have  no  taste  for  controversy,  and 
have  an  especial  dread  of  a  battle  among  the  commentators. 
Dr.  Johnson  long  ago  remarked,  that  the  art  of  writing  notes 
to  Shakespeare  is  not  of  difficult  attainment.  "  The  work  is 
performed,"  he  said,  "  first  by  railing  at  the  stupidity,  negli- 
gence, ignorance,  and  asinine  tastelessness  of  the  former  ed- 
itors, and  showing,  from  all  that  goes  before,  and  all  that  fol- 
lows, the  inelegance  and  absurdity  of  the  old  reading  ;  then 
by  proposing  something  which,  to  superficial  readers,  would 
seem  specious,  but  which  the  editor  rejects  with  indignation  ; 
then  by  producing  the  true  reading,  with  a  long  paraphrase, 
and  concluding  with  loud  acclamations  on  the  discovery,  and  a 
sober  wish  for  the  advancement  and  prosperity  of  genuine  crit- 
icism." If  one  would  see  this  remark  fully  exemplified,  let 
him  glance  at  the  several  publications  in  which  Messrs.  Singer, 
Dyce,  Knight,  and  Halliwell  —  all  rival  editors  of  Shakespeare 
—  have  assailed  Mr.  Collier's  discovery.  One  important  fact 
these  gentlemen  seem  to  have  entirely  lost  sight  of,  —  which 
is,  that  the  question  is  not  at  all  personal  to  Mr.  Collier,  that 
the  emendations  which  he  has  lately  published  are  not  his 
emendations  ;  that  he  has,  in  fact,  played  but  a  very  humble 
part  in  the  transaction,  being  only  the  medium  through  which 
they  have  been  given  to  the  public;  and  that  the  importance 
and  interest  of  the  communication  which  he  has  made  are  fully 
attested  by  this  very  pother  among  the  commentators, — by 
the  immense  pains  which  the  persons  who  seem  to  consider  the 
text  of  Shakespeare  as  their  peculiar  property  have  taken  to 
prove  that  it  was  absurd  and  valueless.  Dr.  Johnson  tells  us, 
that  he  "  always  suspected  that  the  reading  is  right,  which  re- 
quires many  words  to  prove  it  wrong."  If  this  principle  be  a 
sound  one,  the  correctness  of  the  emendations  which  Mr.  Col- 
lier has  recently  discovered  and  published  is  unquestionable. 


RESTORATION   OF   THE   TEXT   OF   SHAKESPEARE.  477 

As  we  do  not  intend  to  take  any  further  notice  of  this  dis- 
creditable personal  controversy,  it  is  but  fair  to  Mr.  Collier  to 
say,  that  he  seems  to  have  acted  throughout  with  commend- 
able fairness,  discretion,  and  modesty.1  He  has  not  put  him- 
self forward  obtrusively,  lie  has  not  defended  all  the  emen- 
dations which  he  has  discovered,  and  he  has  shown  singular 
candor  in  renouncing,  without  a  sigh,  on  the  authority  of  the 
anonymous  old  corrector  of  the  folio  of  1632,  many  of  the 
opinions  which  he  had  expressed  and  strenuously  defended  in 
his  recent  elaborate  edition  of  Shakespeare.  He  has  thus 
given  his  assailants  an  opportunity  to  triumph  over  him,  —  an 
opportunity  which  all  of  them,  excepting  Mr.  Dyce,  have  been 
ungenerous  enough  to  use  to  the  full  extent.  But  they  have 
not  been  candid  enough  even  to  allude  to  the  fact,  that  the  an- 
notated folio  of  1632  has,  in  very  many  instances,  convicted 
them  of  gross  error  in  their  former  comments  upon  the  text, 
and  that,  if  the  authority  of  the  old  annotator  is  admitted, 
their  critical  reputation  will  be  seriously  impaired,  and  their 
editions  will  become  almost  valueless.  Hinc  illce  lacrymce. 

We  propose,  in  the  first  place,  to  give  a  brief  view  of  the 
external  evidence  in  the  case,  a  point  which  has  not  yet  re- 
ceived the  attention  that  it  deserves.  Copies  of  the  folio  edi- 
tions of  Shakespeare,  containing  a  few  manuscript  corrections  of 
the  text  made  by  some  unknown  hand,  are  not  rare  or  difficult 
to  be  had.  Mr.  Singer  tells  us  he  possesses  two  of  them  ;  the 
Earl  of  Ellesmere  has  a  third  ;  a  fourth  once  belonged  to  the 
poet  Southerne ;  and  a  fifth  exists  here  in  Boston,  of  which 
some  account  has  been  given  in  a  pamphlet  that  is  now  before 
us.  Such  annotations  have  not  usually  been  found  to  be 
either  numerous  or  valuable.  Accordingly,  when  Mr.  Collier 
became  the  owner,  about  five  years  ago,  of  a  much  worn  and 
defaced  copy  of  the  folio  of  1632,  on  the  cover  of  which  was 

1  I  am  sorry  to  feel  obliged  to  add  that  this  commendation  of  Mr.  Collier's 
conduct  needs  now  to  l>e  materially  qualified.  From  the  evidence  published  two 
or  three  years  after  this  article  was  written,  it  appears  to  be  proved  that  he  tam- 
pered unjustifiably  with  the  MS.  Annotator's  work,  and  told  different  stories,  not 
only  about  the  corrections,  but  about  the  manner  in  which  the  volume  came  into 
his  possession  and  its  previous  history.  These  painful  disclosures  do  not  seem 
materially  to  affect  the  credit  or  importance  of  the  manuscript  annotations  them- 
selves, but  they  certainly  shake  our  confidence  in  Mr.  Collier's  conduct  aiid 
character. 


478         THE  BATTLE  OF  TEE  COMMENTATORS  : 

written  "  Thomas  Perkins,  his  Booke,"  he  hardly  noticed  its 
written  marginal  corrections,  but  threw  the  volume  aside  as 
being  nearly  valueless.  After  a  while,  his  attention  being 
again  accidentally  turned  towards  it,  he  was  struck  with  the 
astonishing  number  and  minuteness  of  the  written  annota- 
tions, and  also  with  sundry  plain  indications  that  they  had 
been  made  by  some  person  connected  with  the  stage,  either 
as  actor  or  manager,  apparently  for  the  purpose  of  creating  a 
very  accurate  playhouse  copy.  He  then  attempted  to  trace 
the  history  of  the  volume,  but  at  first  was  wholly  unsuccessful 
in  the  endeavor.  Before  the  second  edition  of  his  book  was 
printed,  however,  he  obtained  some  important  information, 
which  he  details  in  the  Preface.1 

Mr.  Parry  came  forward  and  stated  that  he  owned  the  vol- 
ume about  fifty  years  ago,  and  that  it  had  been  given  to  him, 
towards  the  close  of  the  last  century,  by  a  connection  of  his 
family,  Mr.  George  Gray,  who  was  a  collector  of  rare  books. 
Mr.  Parry  described  from  memory  both  the  exterior  and  inte- 
rior of  the  book,  its  missing  leaves  and  innumerable  correc- 
tions, with  such  minuteness  as  to  leave  no  doubt  that  it  was 
the  very  copy  which  has  since  come  into  Mr.  Collier's  hands. 
It  is  not  certainly  known  how  Mr.  Gray  obtained  it ;  but  Mr. 
Parry  had  always  understood  and  believed  that  he  procured  it 
from  a  place  called  Ufton  Court,  a  few  miles  from  his  own 
residence,  which  had  long  been  occupied  by  a  Roman  Catholic 
family  of  the  name  of  Perkins.  This  family  had  been  broken 
up,  and  their  library  sold,  at  the  time  when  Mr.  Gray  became 
the  purchaser  of  the  volume.  The  family  was  of  some  note 
and  antiquity,  one  member  of  it  having  married  Arabella  Fer- 
mor,  the  heroine  of  the  "  Rape  of  the  Lock,"  and  another, 
Francis  Perkins,  having  died  at  Ufton  Court  in  1635,  only 
three  years  after  the  publication  of  the  folio  which  has  been 
annotated.  There  was  a  distinguished  actor  on  the  stage, 
named  Richard  Perkins,  who  is  known  to  have  borne  a  part  in 
the  representation  of  Webster's  "  White  Devil,"  before  that 
drama  was  published  in  1631.  He  was  also  in  some  measure 
a  poet,  as  he  wrote  a  copy  of  verses  prefixed  to  Heywood's 

1  The  account  which  follows  in  the  next  paragraph,  it  must  now  be  admitted, 
is  but  partially  trustworthy. 


RESTORATION    OF   THE    TEXT    OF    SHAKESPEARE.  479 

"  Apology  for  Actors."  Mention  has  been  found  in  print  of  a 
Richard  Perkins,  who,  at  an  unknown  date,  married  a  Lady 
Mervin  of  Ufton  Court  ;  and  Collier  supposes  it  barely  possi- 
ble, that  this  wras  Richard  Perkins  the  actor.  This  conjecture 
is  rendered  improbable,  however,  by  the  known  fact,  that  the 
actor,  after  the  playhouses  were  shut  up  by  the  Long  Parlia- 
ment, lived  for  some  years  at  Clerkenwell,  where  he  died  not 
long  before  the  Restoration.  Still  it  is  not  unlikely  that  he 
was  the  manuscript  annotator  of  the  volume,  and  that  it  passed 
from  him  to  his  relative,  Thomas  Perkins,  whose  name  is  writ- 
ten on  the  cover,  and  who  transmitted  it  to  the  family  at 
Ufton  Court.  This  conjecture  seems  the  more  plausible,  as 
the  cover  on  which  the  name  is  written  does  not  seem  to  have 
been  the  original  binding  of  the  volume.  Thomas  Perkins 
may  have  prized  the  volume  highly,  on  account  of  the  margi- 
nal corrections  made  in  it  by  a  relative,  and  may  therefore 
have  given  it  a  new  binding  and  written  his  name  upon  it. 

The  character  of  the  handwriting  makes  this  hypothesis  ex- 
tremely probable.  Mr.  Collier  states  his  belief,  that  the  writ- 
ing is  not  much  later  than  the  time  when  the  volume  came 
from  the  press  (1032)  ;  and  we  are  not  aware  that  this  state- 
ment has  been  impugned  by  any  of  his  assailants  among  the 
commentators,  some  of  whom  must  be  very  familiar  with  the 
chirography  of  the  period  in  question.  Indeed,  one  who  has 
seen  many  specimens  of  the  handwriting  of  the  founders  of 
New  England,  from  1G30  to  1GGO,  on  turning  to  that  in  the 
fac-simile  prefixed  to  Mr.  Collier's  volume,  will  be  struck  with 
many  obvious  points  of  resemblance,  such  as  the  form  of  the 
long  s,  the  peculiar  shape  of  e,  the  prolongation  of  h  below 
the  line,  &c.  Mr.  Collier  also  states  very  positively  his  pres- 
ent conviction,  that  the  writing  throughout  the  volume  is  by 
the  same  hand,  though  he  was  at  first  inclined  to  believe,  from 
a  difference  in  the  ink  employed  on  different  pages,  that  two 
or  more  persons  might  have  written  in  the  volume  ;  and  we 
are  inclined  to  give  full  credit  to  this  statement,  because  he 
has  shown  frankness  in  mentioning  several  slight  circumstances 
that  might  create  a  presumption  against  the  authenticity  of 
the  manuscript  readings. 

But  we  do  not  need  to  press  any  doubtful  circumstance  into 


480  THE   BATTLE    OF   THE    COMMENTATORS  : 

the  argument.  It  is  enough  that  the  chirography  and  other 
external  evidence  prove,  beyond  all  question,  that  the  marginal 
corrections  were  entered  at  least  as  early  as  the  publication  of 
the  fourth  folio,  in  1685  ;  other  considerations  will  enable  us 
to  carry  the  date  of  them  still  farther  back,  —  to  a  period  an- 
tecedent to  the  issue  of  the  third  folio,  in  1664.  So  it  is  enough 
to  be  assured  that  the  emendations  were  made  for  theatrical 
purposes,  and  by  some  person  connected  with  the  stage,  either 
as  actor  or  manager,  whether  it  were  Richard  Perkins,  or  one 
of  his  fellows  or  successors. 

"  Many  passages,  in  nearly  all  the  plays,  are  struck  out  with  a  pen, 
as  if  for  the  purpose  of  shortening  the  performance  ;  and  \ve  need  not 
feel  much  hesitation  in  coming  to  the  conclusion,  that  these  omissions 
had  reference  to  the  representation  of  the  plays  by  some  company 
about  the  date  of  the  folio,  1632.  To  this  fact  we  may  add,  that 
hundreds  of  stage  directions  have  been  inserted  in  manuscript,  as  if 
for  the  guidance  and  instruction  of  actors,  in  order  that  no  mistake 
might  be  made  in  what  is  usually  denominated  stage-business.  It 
is  known  that,  in  this  respect,  the  old  printed  copies  are  very  defi- 
cient ;  and  sometimes,  the  written  additions  of  this  kind  seem  even 
more  frequent,  and  more  explicit,  than  might  be  thought  neces- 
sary. The  erasures  of  passages  and  scenes  are  quite  inconsistent 
with  the  notion  that  a  new  edition  of  the  folio,  1632,  was  contem- 
plated ;  and  how  are  they,  and  the  new  stage-directions,  and  '  asides,' 
to  be  accounted  for,  excepting  on  the  supposition  that  the  volume 
once  belonged  to  a  person  interested  in,  or  connected  with,  one  of 
our  early  theatres  ?  The  continuation  of  the  corrections  and  emen- 
dations, in  spite  of  and  through  the  erasures,  may  show  that  they 
were  done  at  a  different  time  and  by  a  different  person  ;  but  who 
shall  say  which  was  done  first,  or  whether  both  were  not,  in  fact,  the 
work  of  the  same  hand  ?  "  —  Collier's  Notes  and  Emendations. 

In  this  last  sentence,  Mr.  Collier  seems  to  us  to  state  quite 
too  modestly  or  doubtfully  his  conviction,  that  the  erasures 
and  emendations  of  the  erased  passages  were  made  by  the 
same  hand.  The  MS.  Annotator,  as  we  shall  in  future  call 
the  unknown  author  of  the  written  emendations  of  the  folio 
of  1G32,  appears  to  have  amended  the  passages,  because  he 
had  no  doubt  that  they  were  genuine  ;  at  the  same  time,  lie 
crossed  them  out  only  to  indicate  that  they  ivere  to  be  omit- 
ted in  the  performance.  He  did  precisely  what  was  done  by 


RESTORATION   OF   THE   TEXT    OF   SHAKESPEARE.  481 

the  players  in  Shakespeare's  own  day,  and  ivhat  no  modern 
editor,  critic,  or  commentator  ivould  have  thought  of  doing, 
We  have  already  proved  that  many  passages  of  considerable 
length,  amounting  to  two  hundred  and  fifty  lines  in  a  single 
play,  had  been  struck  out  from  the  manuscript  copies  that  were 
used  by  Heminge  and  Condell  in  editing  the  first  folio  edition 
of  Shakespeare,  —  struck  out,  not  from  any  doubt  whether  he 
wrote  them,  but  only  to  shorten  the  time  required  for  perform- 
ing a  long  drama.  An  editor  or  annotator,  who  was  prepar- 
ing the  copy,  not  for  representation  on  the  stage,  but  only  to 
be  published  and  read,  in  which  case  the  length  of  a  play  is  of 
no  importance,  would  never  have  dreamed  of  taking  such  a 
liberty ;  and  many  persons,  who  have  looked  at  the  matter 
only  superficially,  have  thought  that,  because  the  MS.  An- 
notator used  such  indefensible  license  with  the  text,  he  could 
not  have  had  warrant  or  authority  for  any  part  of  his  proceed- 
ings. On  the  contrary,  the  license  thus  taken  by  him  affords 
good  evidence  in  his  favor,  as  it  proves  that  he  was  an  actor 
at  an  early  day,  when  such  freedom  was  deemed  allowable, 
and  one  that  relied  chiefly  upon  old  playhouse  copies,  instead 
of  being  an  editor  at  a  much  later  period,  who  relies  only  upon 
conjecture,  and  who  may  alter  a  word  here  or  there,  though  he 
would  never  dare  to  erase  a  sentence. 

Another  fact  casually  mentioned  respecting  these  erasures 
supports  an  important  inference  about  their  date,  which  seems 
to  have  escaped  Mr.  Collier's  notice.  All  passages  of  an  in- 
decent, or  needlessly  licentious  or  profane,  character  are  care- 
fully struck  out,  evincing,  says  Mr.  Collier,  "the  advice  of 
a  better  or  purer  taste  about  the  period  when  the  emendator 
wont  over  the  volume."  For  instance,  the  Porter's  speech  in 
Macbeth,  and  portions  of  the  dialogue  between  Hamlet  and 
Ophelia,  are  erased.  Now  at  what  period  was  the  prevailing 
taste  so  pure  as  to  authorize,  and  even  require,  the  omission  of 
such  passages  ?  Not  surely  after  the  Restoration,  when  the 
gross  licentiousness  of  the  stage  was  countenanced  by  the  still 
grosser  licentiousness  of  the  court,  —  when  plays  were  pub- 
licly acted  which  are  now  deemed  not  fit  to  be  read,  —  and 
when  Dryden  and  Davenant  polluted  even  Shakespeare  by 
their  stupidly  obscene  alterations  of  The  Tempest.  Was  it 

31 


482         THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  COMMENTATORS  : 

not  rather  in  Charles  the  First's  time,  when,  as  we  have  seen, 
the  diffusion  of  Puritanism  compelled  the  editors  of  the  first 
folio  to  strike  out  the  profane  ejaculations  of  Falstaff,  and 
some  minor  indecencies,  which  had  been  tolerated  in  the  pub- 
lication of  the  earlier  quartos  ? 

Again,  it  should  be  remembered  that  the  Long  Parliament, 
in  September,  1642,  ordered  all  the  theatres  to  be  closed ; 
(they  had  previously  been  shut  up  nearly  a  year,  beginning 
in  May,  1636,  on  account  of  the  plague;)  and  a  more  im- 
perative and  effectual  ordinance  was  published  in  1647,  '•  for 
the  better  suppression  of  stage-plays,  interludes,  and  common 
players."  Rigid  measures  were  adopted  a  year  afterwards  to 
enforce  this  act,  and  we  know  that  it  was  enforced  with  great 
strictness  until  the  eve  of  the  Restoration.  Not  till  1658  did 
Davenant  venture  to  occupy  the  Cockpit,  Drury  Lane,  with  a 
theatrical  company  ;  and  even  then  he  called  his  representa- 
tions operas,  and  did  not  grow  bold  enough  to  cause  regular 
stage-plays  to  be  performed  till  just  before  Charles  II.  landed 
in  England.  The  theatres,  then,  were  closed,  and  the  actors' 
vocation  was  gone,  for  about  sixteen  years.  It  appears  ex- 
tremely probable  that  one  of  the  principal  performers  or  man- 
agers should  have  sought  employment  or  diversion,  during  this 
period  of  enforced  leisure,  by  correcting  what  was  then  the 
latest  complete  edition  of  Shakespeare,  using  for  this  purpose 
his  own  recollection  of  some  of  the  leading  parts,  winch  he 
had  committed  to  memory  for  the  performance  of  them,  and 
also  all  the  now  useless  stores  of  the  prompter's  room,  consist- 
ing of  old  manuscripts  and  marked  copies  of  the  quartos  and 
of  the  first  and  second  folios.  There  must  have  been  very 
many  transcripts,  either  partial  or  complete  (for  the  use  of  a 
large  theatrical  company),  of  at  least  twenty  of  the  plays, 
down  to  1623,  when  the  first  folio  was  published  ;  and  as  this 
folio  was  a  rather  costly  volume,  instead  of  buying  copies 
enough  of  it  for  the  whole  troop,  it  is  most  likely  that  they 
continued  to  rely,  in  part  at  least,  on  their  old  manuscripts  ; 
and  it  is  by  no  means  extravagant  to  suppose  that  a  num- 
ber of  those  written  copies,  which  either  had  been  in  fre- 
quent use,  or  had  been  laid  aside  and  forgotten,  continued  in 
existence  for  at  least  twenty  years,  —  that  is,  down  to  the 


RESTORATION   OF   THE   TEXT   OF   SHAKESPEARE.  483 

time  when  the  theatres  were  shut  up  by  the  Long  Parliament. 
The  player,  therefore,  could  have  had  no  lack  of  materials  to 
work  with  ;  and  the  work  which  he  performed  was  certainly 
respectable  in  amount.  Mr.  Collier  tells  us  that  there  are 
over  twenty  thousand  emendations ;  and  from  various  signs  he 
concludes  that  the  MS.  Annotator  must  have  been  engaged 
several  years  in  making  them. 

Is  there  any  later  period,  during  which  a  player  (for  we 
consider  it  to  be  demonstrated  that  the  MS.  Annotator  was 
a  player)  Avas  equally  likely  to  have  the  requisite  leisure,  in- 
clination, and  materials  for  so  great  an  undertaking?  Can 
we  find  such  a  period  in  the  reign  of  Charles  II.,  when  theat- 
ricals were  in  greater  favor  than  they  ever  had  been,  or  ever 
have  been  since,  —  when  playhouses  were  numerous  and 
thronged,  —  when  we  may  reasonably  suppose  that  all  the 
histrionic  talent  in  the  kingdom  was  developed  and  in  full 
employment,  —  but  when  Shakespeare  was  so  little  in  re- 
pute, that  his  plays  can  hardly  be  said  to  have  kept  posses- 
sion of  the  stage,  except  in  the  form  of  the  tasteless,  obscene, 
and  barbarous  alterations  of  them  by  Dryden,  Davenant,  and 
others  ?  The  same  considerations  apply,  not  indeed  with 
equal,  but  with  great  force,  against  the  hypothesis  that  the 
emendations  were  made  under  James  II.,  William  and  Mary, 
or  Anne  ;  but  we  need  not  here  dwell  upon  this  point,  for,  as 
we  have  said,  the  proof  from  other  sources  is  complete,  that 
they  could  not  have  been  entered  in  the  margins  after  1685, 
the  date  of  the  fourth  folio. 

Observe,  that  we  have  as  yet  confined  our  attention  entirely 
to  the  external  evidence; ;  and  the  only  point  which  this  evi- 
dence has  been  cited  to  prove  is,  that  the  manuscript  annota- 
tions in  question  were  made  in  a  copy  of  what  was,  when  they 
were  made,  the  latest  complete  edition  of  Shakespeare ;  in 
other  words,  these  annotations  were  entered  before  the  publi- 
cation of  the  third  folio,  in  1604.  And  we  must  avow  our 
conviction,  that  the  evidence  cited  is  sufficient  for  the  point  to 
be  proved  ;  for  it  may  be  doubted  if  the  age  of  any  undated 
ancient  manuscript,  either  of  the  Scriptures  or  the  Latin  or 
Greek  classics,  is  determined  within  one  hundred  years  upon 
testimonv  as  conclusive  as  that  which  has  now  been  given. 


484  THE   BATTLE   OF   THE  COMMENTATORS  : 

From  (1.)  the  ascertained  history  of  the  volume,  considered  in 
its  connection  with  the  Perkins  family  at  Ufton  Court ;  from 
(2.)  the  appearance  of  the  chirography,  when  compared  with 
other  specimens  of  handwriting  under  Charles  I.  ;  from  (3.) 
the  nature  of  the  passages  marked  to  be  omitted  in  the  per- 
formance ;  and  from  (4.)  the  fact  that  the  emendations  were 
made  by  a  player,  and  that  the  playhouses  were  shut  up  from 
1642  to  1658,  —  we  regard  it  as  proved  that  the  MS.  Annota- 
tor  had  finished  his  work  in  1664.  In  what  follows,  we  shall 
proceed  upon  the  supposition  that  this  point  is  established. 

In  treating  of  the  internal  evidence  in  favor  of  the  MS. 
Annotator's  emendations,  we  wish,  at  first,  to  use  only  that 
portion  of  it  which  is  conceded  (to  go  for  what  it  is  worth) 
even  by  his  most  bitter  and  resolute  assailants,  —  by  those 
who  are  well  acquainted  with  the  subject,  but  who,  at  the 
same  time,  have  the  strongest  motives  for  depreciating  the 
value  of  Mr.  Collier's  discovery.  Thus,  even  Mr.  Singer,  who 
is,  beyond  all  question,  the  blindest  and  the  most  bigoted  of 
the  corps  of  editors  and  commentators  who  have  attacked  the 
recently  discovered  corrections,  and  who  is  enabled  to  deny 
the  necessity  for  many  of  them  only  by  putting  forward, 
as  undoubted  readings,  some  very  curious  conjectural  emenda- 
tions of  his  own,  —  even  Mr.  Singer  admits  the  authenticity  of 
nearly  all  that  portion  of  the  MS.  Annotator's  labors,  in  which 
he  has  been  unconsciously  followed  by  most  of  the  modern 
commentators,  from  Theobald  downward.  He  thinks,  however, 
to  ma"ke  this  admission  only  a  damaging  one  for  Mr.  Collier's 
cause,  by  a  sneering  remark  in  each  case;  such  as,  "This 
is  another  of  the  undesigned  coincidences,"  or  "  This  is  a 
happy  coincidence  again."  In  other  words,  he  insinuates  that 
Mr.  Collier  lias  committed  forgery  ;  and  he  sometimes  makes 
the  insinuation  a  very  open  one.  After  the  abundant  proof 
now  given  of  the  antiquity  of  the  manuscript  corrections  in 
Mr.  Collier's  book,  this  charge,  which  fails  to  be  criminal  only 
because  it  is  'so  prodigiously  absurd,  may  be  safely  said  to  be 
derogatory  only  to  him  who  made  it. 

Mr.  Singer  is  so  delightfully  silly  as  to  assert,  in  plain  lan- 
guage, that  the  old  MS.  Annotator  lias  stolen  from  him,  — 
from  Mr.  Singer,  who  published  an  edition  of  Shakespeare  in 


RESTORATION   OF   THE   TEXT   OF   SHAKESPEARE.  485 

1826,  and  who,  according  to  an  advertisement  carefully  an- 
nexed to  his  present  book,  is  about  to  issue  another  edition  of 
the  great  dramatist,  in  which  he  hopes  "  to  have  the  gratifica- 
tion of  leaving  the  text  of  Shakespeare  in  a  much  more  satis- 
factory state  than  I  found  it."  But  let  us  consider  the  alleged 
case  of  plagiarism  from  his  former  edition.  In  Love's  Labour's 

I  c5 

Lost,  we  find,  according  to  the  old  folios,  the  following  line :  — 

"  So  [pcrtaunt  like]  would  I  o'ersway  his  state." 

The  critics  have  been  greatly  perplexed  by  the  two  words 
which  we  have  inclosed  in  brackets  ;  and  the  MS.  Annotator 
tells  us,  what  no  reasonable  being  except  a  commentator  will 
doubt,  that  the  line  should  read,  — 

"  So  potently  would  I  o'ersway  his  state." 
Now  for  Mr.  Singer. 

"  As  I  have  never  seen  the  corrector's  book,  I  am  obliged  in  self- 
defence  to  think  it  possible  that  he  had  seen  mine ;  for  in  the  edition 
of  Shakespeare  I  gave  in  1826,  the  line  stands,  — 

'  So  patent-like  would  I  o'ersway  his  state.' 

And  having  no  faith  in  coincidences,  when  they  are  so  marvellously  re- 
peated hundreds  of  times,  I  feel  constrained  to  draw  this  conclusion. 
Be  it  observed,  however,  that  potent-like  is  a  nearer  approach  to  the 
old  reading  than  potently,  and  /  cannot  but  wish  the  corrector  had  kept 
closer  to  my  reading."  —  Singer's  Text  vindicated,  p.  24. 

Bravo  !  Mr.  Singer.  If  your  proposed  new  edition  of 
Shakespeare  should  contain  many  such  words  as  potent-like, 
it  will  be  a  curious-like  production,  and  we  will  certainly  buy 
a  copy. 

Mr.  Dyce  is  an  able  and  gentlemanly  critic,  all  of  whose 
suggestions  are  deserving  of  respect ;  and  though  laboring  un- 
der the  strong  bias  against  the  value  of  Mr.  Collier's  discovery 
which  must  affect  all  who  have  been,  or  are  to  be,  editors  of 
Shakespeare,  or  who  have  committed  themselves  by  published 
criticisms  upon  the  text,  his  concessions  are  comparatively 
frank  and  bountiful.  He  has  reason,  indeed,  to  favor  the  MS. 
Annotator,  who  sanctions  several  happy  criticisms  and  conject- 
ural emendations  contained  in  his  "  Remarks  on  Collier's  and 
Knight's  Editions  of  Shakespeare,"  published  in  1844.  "  My 
opinion  is,"  says  Mr.  Dyce,  "  that  while  [Mr.  Collier's  volume] 


486         THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  COMMENTATORS  : 

abounds  with  alterations  ignorant,  tasteless,  and  wanton,  it 
also  occasionally  presents  corrections  which  require  no  author- 
ity to  recommend  them,  because  common  sense  declares  them 
to  be  right." 

But  of  all  concessions  made  by  opponents,  we  prefer  to  use 
those  of  an  able  critic,  also  an  editor  of  Shakespeare,  in  "  Put- 
nam's Magazine  "  for  October  and  November,  1853  ;  because 
he  has  taken  pains  to  make  the  expression  of  his  opinion  ex- 
act by  classifying  the  emendations  according  to  their  relative 
merit,  and  numbering  those  in  each  class.  Of  the  1,303  mod- 
ifications of  the  text  by  the  MS.  Annotator  which  are  specified 
in  the  first  edition  of  Mr.  Collier's  book,  (we  are  using  the 
second  edition,)  this  critic  tells  us  that  249  are  what  he  calls 
"old;"  —  that  is,  a  few  of  them  may  be  found  in  the  text  of 
the  first  folio  or  the  old  quartos,  but  the  greater  part  agree 
with  the  conjectural  emendations  that  have  been  proposed  by 
critics  and  commentators  "  during  the  last  hundred  and  fifty 
years."  Of  these  249,  he  says,  29  have  been  rejected  by  pre- 
vious editors,  and  he  judges  that  47  others  are  ''inadmissible 
but  plausible  ;  "  and  the  remaining  173  are  already  admitted 
and  form  part  of  the  received  text.  We  have  here,  then,  the 
exact  number  of  Mr.  Singer's  "remarkably  happy  coinci- 
dences." As  this  critic  himself,  after  considerable  wavering, 
places  the  date  of  the  MS.  Annotator's  labors  "  not  earlier 
than  about  1G70,"  and  says  elsewhere  "  that  some  of  the  [MS. 
corrections]  are  about  a  hundred  and  seventy-five  years  old, 
there  can  be  no  question,"  while  the  race  of  "  critics  and  com- 
mentators "  certainly  did  not  begin  to  work  till  Rowe  pub- 
lished his  edition  in  1709,  and  did  not  accomplish  much  before 
Theobald's  "  Shakespere  Restored  "  appeared  in  1726,  it  fol- 
lows, that  the  3LS.  Annotator  is  entitled  to  tJte  u>lv>le  credit  of 
the  173  admitted,  and  the  47  plausible,  corrections,  in  the  sug- 
gestion of  u'Jilch  lie  preceded  all  oilier  persons  I//  at  least  a 
quarter  of  a  century.  Observe  further,  that  it  is  not  merely 
the  anonymous  American  critic  who  concedes  that  this  large 
number  of  corrections  is  admissible,  but  the  whole  corps  of 
critics  and  editors  who  have  since  adopted  them  have  virtually 
made  the  same  admission  :  and  at  least  as  much  as  this  may  be 
fairly  inferred  from  the  language  already  quoted  from  Singer 
and  Dyce. 


RESTORATION   OF   THE   TEXT    OF   SHAKESPEARE.  487 

Again,  of  the  1,054  modifications  of  the  received  text  which 
the  critic  in  "  Putnam's  Magazine  "  declares  are  peculiar  to 
the  old  MS.  Annotator,  he  admits  that  119  are  "  inadmissible 
but  plausible,"  and  117  "  seem  to  be  admissible  corrections  of 
passages  which  need  correction  ;  "  grudging  language,  which 
shows  rather  the  unwillingness  of  the  concession  than  any 
doubt  as  to  its  justice  or  propriety.  Adding  these  to  the 
former  sums,  we  have  a  total  of  one  hundred  and  sixty-six 
plausible,  and  two  hundred  and  ninety  admitted,  corrections  of 
the  text,  the  sole  credit  of  which  is  due  to  the  MS.  Annotator. 
What  one  editor,  critic,  or  commentator  can  claim  the  origi- 
nal suggestion  of  an  equal  number  of  conjectural  emenda- 
tions, which  even  strongly  prejudiced  rivals  and  opponents 
admit  as  either  plausible  or  unquestionably  sound  ?  Theo- 
bald, one  of  the  earliest,  and  certainly  the  best  of  the  whole 
corps,  who,  because  he  was  the  happiest  in  conjecture,  was 
exalted  by  Pope  to  his  painful  preeminence  in  the  "  Dunciad," 
and  has  been  regularly  abused  by  every  dunce  of  an  editor 
and  commentator  since  his  own  day,  —  Theobald  probably 
cannot  claim  half  as  many.  In  our  own  times,  critics  and 
editors  of  Shakespeare  very  seldom  aspire  to  the  perilous 
honor  of  "  conjectural  emendations,"  but  confine  their  labors 
almost  entirely  to  what  they  call  restoring  the  old,  genuine 
text,  and  shovelling  away  the  heap  of  absurdities  which  have 
been  accumulated  by  the  guesswork  of  former  commentators  ; 
never  failing,  however,  to  pilfer  slyly  a  large  number  of  the 
best  guesses  from  the  mass,  and  to  install  them  quietly  in  the 
text.  Mr.  Dyce,  the  ablest  of  their  number,  has  proposed 
perhaps  a  score  of  new  readings,  most  of  which  do  honor  to 
his  taste  and  discernment ;  Mr.  Singer,  the  feeblest  of  the  set, 
may  have  published  fifty  guesses,  of  which  it  can  only  be  said 
that  the  best  are  atrociously  bad. 

If  the  truth  must  be  told,  antiquarianism  and  bibliomania 
have  spoiled  our  latest  set  of  commentators.  They  seem  more 
bent  upon  showing  the  extent  of  their  collection  of  rare  or 
unique  books  and  pamphlets,  —  rare  or  unique  because  so 
worthless  that  no  one  for  two  or  three  centuries  has  ever 
thought  of  republishing  them,  —  and  the  great  compass  of  their 
reading  in  the  most  obscure  and  forgotten  part  of  the  litera- 


488  THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   COMMENTATORS  : 

ture  of  the  Elizabethan  period,  than  upon  correcting  or  eluci- 
dating the  text  of  Shakespeare.  A  disputed  reading  is  with 
them  only  a  pretext  for  a  vast  display  of  cumbrous  and  out- 
of-the-way  erudition.  We  are  sorry  to  add,  that  this  seem- 
ingly harsh  remark  is  especially  applicable  to  Mr.  Dyce,  whose 
last  published  volume,  of  only  156  pages  of  large  print,  con- 
tains perhaps  three  or  four  hundred  citations  from  at  least  half 
as  many  authors  of  the  sixteenth  or  the  early  part  of  the  sev- 
enteenth century,  whom  no  one  but  a  zealous  antiquarian  ever 
heard  of.  We  open  the  book  at  random  for  an  example,  and 
find  this  line  of  Shakespeare,  — 

"  Cleanse  the  stuffed  bosom  of  that  perilous  stuff," 

the  meaning  of  which  appears  too  obvious  to  need  any  elu- 
cidation, illustrated  by  thirty-three  citations  from  such  authors 
or  books  as  the  following :  "  Tiptoft  Earle  of  Worcester," 
"  The  Lord  Hastings,"  "  England's  Eliza,"  A.  Fraunce's 
"  Countess  of  Pembrokes  Yuy church,"  1591,  "  A  Herrings 
Tayle,"  1598,  Barnes's  "  Divel's  Charter,"  1607,  Armin's 
"Valiant  Welshman,"  1615,  Hubert's  "Edward  the  Second," 
1629,  "  Fuimus  Trees,"  1683,  etc.,  etc.  And  the  point  to  be 
proved  by  this  barrow-load  of  stupid  quotations  is,  that  the 
writers  of  Shakespeare's  time  sometimes  indulged  in  such  an 
iteration  or  jingle  of  words  as  "  stuffed  bosom  "  and  '•  perilous 
stuff"  in  the  line  which  forms  the  text,  —  a  point  which  might 
be  fully  and  easily  made  out  from  Shakespeare  himself.  We 
do  not  forget  that  the  world  is  indebted  to  antiquarianism  for 
a  very  few  needed  illustrations  of  a  few  obscure  expressions 
in  our  great  dramatist.  But  the  thing  is  carried  altogether 
too  far.  Any  tasteful  student  of  Shakespeare  will  exclaim, 
Give  me  a  bushel  of  those  much-abused  conjectures,  generally 
rash,  but  sometimes  striking  and  happy,  of  Theobald,  War- 
burton,  Hanmer,  and  others,  rather  than  a  cart-load  of  this 
conceited  and  fantastical  learning.  The  best  and  most  justi- 
fiable display  of  it,  Farmer's  "Essay  on  the  Learning  of  Shake- 
speare," with  all  its  wit  and  curious  erudition,  always  seemed 
to  us  to  prove  little  or  nothing  except  the  writer's  misplaced 
industry. 

But  to  return  from  this  digression.     Our  readers  have  prob- 
ably anticipated  the  only  remaining  point  in  our  argument, 


RESTORATION  OF   THE   TEXT   OF   SHAKESPEARE.  489 

though  it  is  the  one  that  constitutes  the  strength  of  the  case 
in  favor  of  the  old  MS.  Aimotator.  This  indefatigable  cor- 
rector, — -whose  very  name  has  perished,  and  whose  manu- 
script labors,  two  centuries  after  his  death,  were  picked  up  at 
a  bookstall  for  thirty  shillings,  —  but  who,  by  the  confession 
even  of  his  jealous  rivals  and  opponents,  has  distanced  all  com- 
petition in  the  race  of  conjectural  emendation,  and  who  has 
restored  the  true  text  of  Shakespeare  in  hundreds  of  instances, 
while  the  best  of  his  imitators  was  painfully  amending  a 
score  of  lines,  —  this  miracle  of  critical  ingenuity  was  a  poor 
player,  who  lived  in  an  age  (the  first  half  of  the  seventeenth 
century}  tchen  conjectural  emendation  of  an  English  author 
was  an  art  as  yet  unheard  of,  and  when  the  ivritiugs  of  our 
great  dramatist  were  so  little  known  or  prized,  that  four  rude 
and  uncritical  editions  of  them  sufficed  for  a  century.  In 
Charles  the  First's  time,  or  under  the  Commonwealth,  a  The- 
obald would  have  been  a  miracle,  and  even  a  Singer  would 
have  seemed  a  curiosity.  We  can  more  easily  imagine  an- 
other Shakespeare  to  have  arisen  about  1G40,  than  an  amender 
of  Shakespeare's  text  by  guessivork ;  for  the  race  of  play- 
wrights was  then  still  in  being,  though  that  of  critics  and 
commentators  was  as  yet  unborn.  The  folio  of  1632  was  a 
mere  reprint  of  that  of  1623,  and  it  added  more  errors  of  the 
press  than  it  corrected.  The  edition  of  1664  bears  no  marks 
of  an  editor's  care,  except  the  insertion  of  half  a  dozen  apoc- 
ryphal dramas  ;  and  that  of  1685  is  as  carelessly  printed  as 
its  predecessors.  "  Neither  of  the  two  latter  folios  is  of  the 
slightest  authority  in  determining  the  text  of  Shakespeare." 
In  urging  this  argument,  we  do  not  need  to  place  any  great 
stress  upon  the  value  or  genuineness  of  the  MS.  Annota- 
tor's  corrections,  but  only  upon  their  extraordinary  number 
and  minuteness.  In  that  uncritical  age,  that  a  person  should 
have  been  willing  to  give  the  labor  of  several  years  to  mak- 
ing twenty  thousand  alterations  of  Shakespeare's  text  ////  mere 
conjecture,  is  a  story  that  outrages  all  the  laws  of  probability. 
And  when  we  add,  that  hundreds  of  these  alterations  are 
found  equal  or  superior  in  merit  to  the  best  that  have  been 
produced  by  the  taste,  learning,  and  critical  acumen  of  the 
next  two  centuries,  the  tale  becomes  absolutely  incredible. 


490         THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  COMMENTATORS  : 

There  is  but  one  way  of  explaining  the  mystery.  The  old 
Annotator  was  no  critic,  no  ingenious  contriver  of  new  read- 
ings, but  simply  a  scribe,  who  worked  from  the  "materials 
in  his  possession  as  blindly  as  the  compositor  in  a  printing- 
office  follows  "the  copy,"  whether  that  copy  be  sense  or  non- 
sense. He  was,  as  we  have  suggested,  a  player  out  of  em- 
ployment, who  sought  to  amuse  his  forced  leisure  by  forming, 
from  his  own  recollection  of  the  plays  in  which  he  had  often 
been  an  actor,  and  from  the  old  manuscripts  in  the  prompt- 
er's room,  a  text  which  should  be  more  correct  than  the 
two  wretchedly-printed  folios,  and  which,  by  its  numerous 
stage-directions  and  passages  noted  to  be  left  out  in  the  per- 
formance, should  be  a  trustworthy  and  available  guide  when 
the  playhouses  should  be  opened  again.  He  proceeds  like  a 
proof-reader^  not  like  a  commentator  ;  that  is,  he  simply  enters 
the  correction  in  the  margin,  without  adding  a  word  of  his 
own,  by  way  of  explanation,  defence,  or  criticism.  Commen- 
tators are  not  wont  to  be  so  concise.  He  often  passes  over 
obscure  and  corrupt  passages,  not  having  wherewithal  to 
amend  them ;  and  still  oftener  makes  an  admirable  emenda- 
tion of  a  line,  which,  in  later  times,  no  one  even  suspected  of 
corruption.  Sometimes  he  makes  an  explanation  uncon- 
sciously, as  when,  intending  only  to  enter  a  stage-direction,  he 
pours  daylight  over  something  in  the  text,  around  which  all 
subsequent  editors  have  groped  in  darkness.  We  need  only 
allude  to  his  famous  stage-direction  in  the  Tempest,  which 
shows  the  cause  of  that  sudden  somnolency  of  Miranda  which 
has  so  often  perplexed  the  reader.  A  modern  emendator  would 
surely  have  paused  to  clap  his  hands  and  glorify  himself  on 
such  a  discovery.  The  MS.  Annotator  is  evidently  uncon- 
scious that  there  is  any  difficulty  to  be  overcome  ;  for  always 
having  seen  the  play  rightly  performed  in  this  respect,  every 
point  appeared  to  him  obvious  and  natural. 

But  the  decisive  consideration  to  prove  that  the  MS.  An- 
notator worked  from  authority,  and  not  from  conjectui'e,  is, 
that  he  supplies  omissions  and  makes  corrections,  which,  as 
every  reader  of  common  sense  can  see,  lie  wholly  leyond  the 
reach  of  conjectural  emendation.  Hei'e  we  must  adduce  in- 
stances, and  we  approach  this  part  of  our  task  with  unfeigned 


RESTORATION   OF   THE   TEXT   OF   SHAKESPEARE.  491 

diffidence  and  reluctance.  The  maxim,  quot  homines,  tot  sen- 
tentice,  is  nowhere  so  applicable  as  to  proposed  emendations 
of  the  text  of  Shakespeare.  It  is  notorious  that  no  two  crit- 
ics can  be  found  to  agree  in  opinion  as  to  the  merits  or  gen- 
uineness of  any  half-dozen  proposed  new  readings.  One  is 
amused  to  find  this  remark  so  strikingly  exemplified  as  it  is 
among  the  several  assailants  of  the  MS.  Annotator.  Mr. 
Dyee  affirms  that  to  be  certainly  right  which  Mr.  Singer  says 
is  undeniably  wrong  ;  and  the  critic  in  "  Putnam's  Magazine  " 
adopts  what  both  declare  to  be  inadmissible.  We  are  sorry 
not  to  be  able  to  follow  even  Mr.  Collier's  lead  in  this  matter ; 
for  we  deem  his  selection  of  the  best  and  least  questionable 
emendations  of  the  old  Annotator  often  eminently  unfortunate; 
and  his  argument  in  defence  of  those  which  may  admit  of  doubt 
is  frequently  a  lame  one,  and  rather  weakens  his  cause.  Our 
own  selection,  in  the  judgment  of  many,  may  be  doubly  cen- 
surable ;  but  when  several  instances  are  adduced,  though  one 
or  t\vo  be  condemned,  the  general  verdict  may  be  trusted  as  to 
the  collective  force  of  those  which  remain,  so  as  to  substantiate 
our  conclusion  that  all  of  them  could  not  have  been  framed  by 
mere  conjecture. 

1.  In  the  Winter's  Tale,  when  Paulina  "  offers  to  draw 
the  curtain,"  as  a  stage-direction  of  the  MS.  Annotator  in- 
forms us,  before  the  supposed  statue  of  Hermione,  Leontes  ex- 
claims, — 

"Let  be!  let  be! 

Would  I  were  dead,  but  that, methinks,  already 

/  am  but  dead,  stone  looking  upon  stone. 

What  was  he,  that  did  make  it  ?" 

The  whole  line  which  we  have  italicized  is  supplied  by  the 
MS.  Annotator,  the  passage  having  been  printed  in  all  editions 
without  it.  Before  the  discovery  of  his  corrected  copy  of  the 
folio  of  1632,  several  editors  had  perceived  that  the  sense  was 
imperfect,  and  had  placed  a  printer's  dash  after  "  already,"  at 
the  end  of  the  second  line,  as  if  Leontes  in  his  ecstasy  had  left 
his  sentence  unfinished.  The  line  now  supplied  seems  to  us  so 
obviously  Shakespearian  in  its  turn  of  thought  and  expression, 
and  tallies  so  precisely  with  the  remainder  of  the  speech,  that 
it  would  almost  argue  insanity  to  doubt  its  genuineness.  Mr. 


492  THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   COMMENTATORS  : 

Dyce  says,  "  On  first  reading  the  new  line,  it  appeared  to  me 
so  exactly  in  the  style  of  Shakespeare,  that,  like  Mr.  Collier,  I 
felt  '  thankful  that  it  had  been  furnished.'  But  presently  I 
found  that  it  was  too  Shakespearian."  His  reason  for  think- 
ing so  is,  that  Leontes,  only  a  few  speeches  before,  has  ex- 
claimed, — 

"  I  am  ashamed :  does  not  the  stone  rebuke  me, 
For  being  more  stone  than  it? 

Standing  like  stone  with  thee  !  " 

Mr.  Dyce  concludes,  as  he  thinks  Shakespeare  never  repeats 
himself,  "  that  a  reviser  of  the  play,  with  an  eye  to  the  pas- 
sage just  cited,  ingeniously  constructed  the  said  line  to  fill  up 
a  supposed  lacuna."  With  all  submission,  we  must  prefer 
Mr.  Dyce's  first  thoughts  to  his  second ;  for  in  all  our  acquaint- 
ance with  critics  and  commentators,  we  have  not  yet  found 
one  who  appears  "  ingenious  "  enough,  with  so  slender  a  clue, 
to  invent  so  Shakespearian  a  line  as  the  one  here  given  by  the 
MS.  Annotator.  Whatever  may  be  said  of  the  similarity  in 
the  thought,  the  similarity  in  the  expression  is  confined  to  the 
one  word  stone  ;  and  as  this  is  thrice  repeated  in  the  single 
speech  cited  by  Mr.  Dyce,  we  are  not  surprised  to  find,  several 
speeches  afterwards,  that  it  is  repeated  twice  more,  this  strik- 
ing addition  being  also  made  to  the  thought,  "  stone  looking 
upon  stone."  Let  him  who  doubts  the  genuineness  of  this  ad- 
dition to  the  received  text,  invent  an  equally  good  one.  For- 
tunately we  are  enabled  to  judge,  as  one  of  them  has  actually 
made  the  experiment.  Mr.  Singer  says,  "  If  a  line  Avere  want- 
ing, and  that  is  more  than  doubtful,  a  much  better  one  has  been 

suggested  :  — 

"  But  that,  methinks,  already 
/  am  in  heaven,  and  looking  on  an  awjd." 

Oh,  Mr.  Singer ! 

2.  In  the  Second  Part  of  Henry  IV.,  Lord  Bardolph  draws 
a  parallel  between  the  building  of  a  house  and  the  carrying 
on  of  a  war,  and  takes  the  case  of  a  man  attempting  to  build, 
and  finding  out  by  woful  experience  that  he  has  not  counted 
the  cost.  In  this  case,  as  in  every  other,  we  italicize  what 
is  supplied  in  writing  by  the  MS.  Annotator,  and  include  in 
angular  brackets  that  portion  of  the  received  text  which  lie 


RESTORATION  OF   THE   TEXT   OF   SHAKESPEARE.  493 

has  struck  out.  Read  the  passage,  omitting  all  that  is  in  ital- 
ics, and  you  have  the  received  text ;  read  it  again,  omitting  all 
that  is  in  brackets,  and  you  have  the  speech  as  amended  by  the 
MS.  Annotator. 

"  What  do  we  then,  but  draw  anew  the  model 
In  fewer  offices  ;  or  at  [k'ast]  last  desist 
To  build  at  all  ?     Much  more,  in  this  great  work, 
(Which  is,  almost,  to  pluck  a  kingdom  down, 
And  set  another  up,)  should  we  survey 
The  plot  [of  j,  the  situation,  and  the  model ; 
[Consent]  Consult  upon  a  sure  foundation  ; 
Question  surveyors  ;  know  our  own  estate, 
How  able  such  a  work  to  undergo. 
A  careful  leader  sums  what  force  he  brings 
To  weigh  against  his  opposite  ;  or  else 
We  fortify  [in]  on  paper,  and  in  figures,"  etc. 

We  say  nothing  of  the  minor  verbal  emendations  of  this  pas- 
sage, though  without  them  a  portion  of  it  is  unintelligible, 
and  with  them  the  meaning  is  clear  and  consistent.  But  the 
whole  line  which  is  supplied  by  the  MS.  Annotator  is  so  ob- 
viously necessary  to  make  out  the  sense,  (the  words,  "  To 
weigh  against  his  opposite,"  having  otherwise  nothing  to  cor- 
respond to  them,  and  "his"  no  antecedent,)  and  is  so  clearly 
in  the  manner  of  Shakespeare,  that  we  have  not  the  slightest 
doubt  that  it  came  from  his  pen. 

Neither  Mr.  Dyce  nor  Mr.  Singer  says  one  word  about  this 
emendation,  and  considering  its  irresistible  claims,  their  silence 
does  not  appear  very  ingenuous.  The  critic  in  "  Putnam's 
Magazine"  also  passes  it  over  without  direct  notice,  having  pre- 
viously made  up  his  mind  against  the  whole  class  of  emen- 
dations to  which  it  belongs,  —  those,  namely,  in  which  entire 
lines  are  supplied  to  complete  a  deficient  sense.  "  No  matter," 
he  says,  "  how  great  the  deficiency  which  they  attempt  to  sup- 
ply, or  how  remarkable  their  intrinsic  merits  ;  "  they  must  be 
rejected,  because  "  they  are  not  emendations  of  typographical 
blunders,  not  the  correction  of  that  which  is  ill  done,  but  the 
doing  of  that  which  was  left  undone  ;  "  and  he  adds,  very 
rightly,  that  "  the  interpolation  of  an  entire  line  by  one  man 
is  as  little  justifiable  as  the  interpolation  of  an  entire  scene  by 
another."  *  Here  the  critic  has  in  view  the  very  consideration 

1  The  reason  mven  bv  this  critic  for  affirming  "  that  the  corrections  in  Mr.  Co!- 


494         THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  COMMENTATORS  : 

on  which  our  present  argument  is  based,  though  he  makes  a 
most  illogical  use  of  it.  He  sees  clearly,  as  every  one  must 
do,  that  entire  lines  cannot  be  supplied  by  conjecture  ;  and  hav- 
ing previously  made  up  his  mind  that  the  MS.  Annotator  had 
nothing  but  conjecture  to  depend  upon,  he  decides  that  the  sup- 
plied lines  must  be  rejected,  however  great  the  internal  evidence 
in  their  favor.  But  we  argue  thus  :  The  internal  evidence, 
that  the  two  entire  lines  supplied  by  the  MS.  Annotator  could 
could  not  have  been  written  by  a  commentator,  is  irresistible  ; 
we  grant  that  they  could  not  have  been  supplied  by  conject- 
ure ;  therefore,  we  have  conclusive  proof  that  the  MS.  Anno- 
tator could  not  have  supplied  them  by  conjecture,  but  must 
have  worked  with  a  manuscript  authority  before  him. 

3.  We  have  not  yet  done  with  the  entire  lines  supplied  by 
the  MS.  Annotator.  Witness  the  following,  which  is  added 
to  a  speech  of  Sir  Eglamour,  in  the  fourth  act  of  The  Two 
Gentlemen  of  Verona  :  — 

"  Madam,  I  pity  much  your  grievances, 
And  the  most  true  affections  that  you  bear, 
Which  since  I  know  they  virtuously  are  placed, 
I  give  consent  to  go  along  with  you." 

Omit  the  line  in  italics,  and  Sir  Eglamour  is  made  to  say, 
that,  as  he  knows  Silvia's  "grievances"  "virtuously  are 
placed,"  he  consents  to  go  along  with  her  to  Mantua,  —  which 
is  nonsense.  The  line  supplied  furnishes  just  the  meaning 
that  is  needed,  and  tallies  perfectly  with  Silvia's  preceding 

lier's  folio  could  not  possibly  have  hecn  made  hefore  1662,  when  Davenant  intro- 
duced the  first  scenery  ever  exhibited  upon  a  public  stage  in  England,"  is  very 
curious.  According  to  the  stage  directions  of  the  MS.  Annotator  for  Love's  La- 
bour's Lost,  Birou  "  gets  him  in  a  tree,"  and  makes  some  remarks  while  "  in  the 
tree."  The  critic  argues  that  such  stage  directions  could  not  have  been  put  forth 
before  Davenant's  stage  improvement  was  made.  Why  not  argue,  also,  that  the 
whole  first  scene  of  The  Tempest  is  spurious  because  it  is  supposed  to  take  place 
on  board  a  ship  ?  or  that  many  scenes  in  As  You  Like  It  ought  to  be  rejected,  be- 
cause they  take  place  amid  a  whole  forest  of  trees  ?  It  is  evident  that  IJiron  is 
directed  to  speak  "in  a  tree,"  just  as  Juliet  makes  love  in  "a  balcony,"  —  not 
that  either  the  true  or  the  balcony  was  real,  or  even  a  good  imitation  of  the  real- 
ity ;  but  the  actor  was  perched  on  a  stand  a  few  feet  above  the  stage,  with  a  par- 
tial covering  in  front,  and  the  spectators'  imaginations  did  the  rest.  We  may  re- 
mark, iu  passing,  that  the  stage  direction  just  cited,  "He  gc-ts  him  in  a  tree,"  is  a 
phrase  that  we  should  not  expect  to  find  after  the  Restoration,  and  from  a  mod- 
ern fashioner  of  conjectural  readings,  it  would  be  simply  ludicrous.  The  phrase 
is  Elizabethan,  or  certainly  not  later  than  Charles  I. 


RESTORATION   OF   THE   TEXT    OF   SHAKESPEARE.  495 

speech  ;  and  though  it  is  not  so  obviously  Shakespearian  in  its 
turn  as  the  two  previously  cited,  it  is  far  above  the  power  of 
any  modern  commentator  to  forge,  and  we  therefore  incorpo- 
rate it  without  hesitation  into  the  mighty  master's  text. 

4.  Again,  in  the  third  act   of    Coriolanus,  Volumnia  says, 

"  Pray  be  counselled  : 
I  have  a  heart  as  little  apt  as  yours 
To  brook  control  without  the  use  of  anger ; 
But  yet  a  brain,  that  leads  ray  use  of  anger 
To  better  vantage." 

Without  the  line  in  italics,  the  sense  is  evidently  incomplete, 
as  there  is  nothing  to  which  Volumma's  heart  is  "  little  apt ;  " 
and  we  can  plainly  see  how,  in  the  careless  printing  of  the 
first  folio,  the  line  was  accidentally  omitted.  The  next  line 
also  ending  with  the  same  words,  "  use  of  anger,"  the  printer's 
eye  was  caught  by  them,  and  he  did  not  observe  that  they 
were  repeated.  The  omission  was  supplied  by  the  MS.  An- 
notator,  and  who  can  believe  that  he,  or  any  other  man,  was 
capable  of  forging  such  a  line  ? 

5.  Lines  in  prose,  as  well   as  in  verse,  are  sometimes   omit- 
ted in  the  first  folio.     Thus,  in  the  second  act  of  The  Twelfth 
Night,  a  speech  of   Sir  Andrew  Aguecheek   and   the  Clown's 
reply  are  printed   as  follows,  the  two  lines  just  filling  up  the 
breadth  of  one  of   the  two  columns  that  constitute  the  folio 
page :  - 

"An.     There  's  a  tcstrill  of  me  too  ;  if  one  knight  give  a 

"  Clo.     Would  you  have  a  love  song,  or  a  song  of  good  life  ?  " 

Here  it  is  palpable  that,  by  a  printer's  blunder,  a  portion  of 
Sir  Andrew's  remark  has  dropped  out.  The  MS.  Annotator 
thus  supplies  the  omission  :  — 

"  Sir  Tobi/.    Come  on  ;  there  is  sixpence  for  you  ;  let 's  have  a  song. 

"  Sir  An.    There  is  a  testrill  of  me  too;  if  one  knight  give  away  sixpence,  80 

will  I  give  another :  <]»  In,  a  HOIK/. 

"  Cloicn.    Would  you  have  a  love  song  or  a  song  of  good  life?  " 

He  who  was  capable  of  inventing  the  words  in  italics,  so 
perfectly  in  keeping  with  Sir  Andrew's  character  and  manner, 
might  have  written  without  effort  the  whole  comic  portion  of 
The  Twelfth  Night.  In  mercy  to  Mr.  Singer,  we  forbear  to 
quote  his  comment,  and  the  way  in  which  he  proposes  to  fill 
up  the  gap. 


496 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   COMMENTATORS: 


6.  As  a  specimen  of  the  careless  way  in  which  the  first  folio 
was  printed,  we  will  now  give  a  passage  from  All 's  Well  that 
ends  Well  (Act  I.  Scene  3),  precisely  as  it  stands  in  that  im- 
portant volume. 

"  Clo.   Was  this  faire  face  the  cause,  quoth  she, 

Why  the  Grecians  sacked  Troy, 

Fond  done,  done,  fond  was  this  King  Priams  ioy, 

With  that  she  sighed  as  she  stood,  bis 

And   gaue    this  sentence  then,  among  nine  bad  if  one  be 

good,  among  nine  bad  if   one   be   good,  there 's  yet  one 

good  in  ten 

"  Con.  What,  one  good  in  tenne  ?  you  corrupt  the  song 
sirra. 

"  Clo.  One  good  woman  in  ten  Madam,  which  is  a  pu- 
rifying ath'  song  :  would  God  would  serue  the  world  so 
all  the  yeere,  weed  find  no  fault  with  the  tithe  woman 
if  I  were  the  Parson,  one  in  ten  quoth  a  ?  and  wee  might 
:iaue  a  good  woman  borne  but  ore  euerie  blazing  starre, 
or  at  an  earthquake,  'twould  mend  the  Latteriewell,"  etc. 

We  will  now  print  the  extract  as  the  lines  are  arranged  by 
the  modern  editors,  and  with  the  alterations  and  additions  of 
the  MS.  Annotator  in  italics. 

"  Clo.  Was  this  fair  face  the  cause,  quoth  she, 

Why  the  Grecians  sacked  Troy  ? 
Fond  done,  done  fond,  good  sooth  it  was  ; 

Was  this  King  Priam's  joy  "? 
With  that  she  sighed  as  she  stood, 
With  that  she  sighed  as  she  stood, 

And  gave  this  sentence  then  ; 
Among  nine  bad  if  one  be  good, 
Among  nine  bad  if  one  be  good, 

There  's  yet  one  good  in  ten. 

"  Count.    What,  one  good  in  ten  ?  you  corrupt  the  song,  sirrah. 

"Clo.  One  good  woman  in  ten,  madam;  which  is  a  purifying  o' the  song, 
and  iiif-ndnni  o'  t/ir-  six.  Would  God  would  serve  the  world  so  all  the  year  !  we'd 
find  no  fault  with  the  tithe-woman,  if  I  were  the  parson.  One  in  ten,  quotha ! 
An  we  mi^ht  have  a  good  woman  born  —  but  one  —  every  blazing  star,  or  at  an 
earthquake,  't  would  mend  the  lottery  well,"  etc. 

The  MS.  Annotator  certainly  did  not  correct  this  passage 
and  fill  up  the  gaps  in  it  by  conjecture,  though  he  might  have 
done  it  by  inspiration,  or  on  the  authority  of  a  manuscript. 

7.  In   Much  Ado    about  Nothing  (Act  II.  Scene  Ij,  Bea- 
trice   compares    "wooing,    wedding,    and    repenting"    to    "a 
Scotch  jig,  a  measure,  and  a  cinque  pace,"  thus  :  — 


RESTORATION   OF   THE   TEXT   OF    SHAKESPEARE.  497 

"  The  first  suit  is  hot  and  hasty,  like  a  Scotch  jig,  and  full  as  fantastical  :  the 
wedding,  mannerly,  modest,  as  a  measure  full  of  state  and  ancientry ;  and  then 
conies  repentance,  and  with  his  bad  legs  falls  into  the  cinque  pace  faster  and 
faster,  'till  he  siuk  a  pace  into  his  grave." 

Without  the  words  in  italics,  no  one  would  have  supposed 
that  the  passage  needed  any  emendation  ;  but  the  MS.  An- 
notator  supplies  them,  and  thus  preserves  a  pun,  very  much 
in  Shakespeare's  manner,  in  which  consists  all  the  drollery  of 
the  latter  part  of  the  description. 

8.  In  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor  (Act  II.  Scene  1),  the 
Host  exclaims,  at  the  end  of  a  short  speech,  according  to  the 
first  folio,  "  Will  you  go,  An-heires  ?  "  The  types  were  evi- 
dently jumbled  together  here,  into  one  of  those  inexplica- 
ble compounds  which  are  sometimes  found,  as  all  correctors 
of  the  press  will  testify,  on  i\\Q  first  proof s  at  a  printing-office; 
'and  all  the  commentators  have  been  greatly  puzzled  to  know 
what  "An-heires"  means.  "  Warburton  suggested  '  heris, 
the  old  Scotch  word  for  master '  ;  Steevens,  hearts  ;  Malone, 
hear  us;  Boaden,  cavaliers,  &c."  The  MS.  Annotator  tells 
us  to  read,  "  Will  you  go  on,  here  ? "  The  Host,  being  in 
a  hurry,  exhorts  them  again,  just  afterwards,  "  Here,  boys, 
here,  here!  shall  we  wag?"  Yet  Mr.  Dyce  is  dissatisfied 
with  this  simple  and  satisfactory  emendation,  and,  in  his 
usual  manner,  on  the  strength  of  an  expression  found  in  an 
old  play  printed  in  16-17,  wishes  us  to  read,  "  Will  you  go  on, 
Mynheers?"  This  is  almost  as  bad  as  Mr.  Singer's  conject- 
ures. We  have  quoted  it  only  to  show  how  completely  the 
best  critics  are  at  fault,  when  they  have  nothing  but  internal 
evidence  to  depend  upon,  in  the  case  of  a  passage  that  is  ob- 
viously corrupt. 

We  have  not  space  for  more  instances,  and  more  are  not 
needed,  though  we  could  select  from  Mr.  Collier's  volume  at 
least  one  hundred  emendations,  that  have  nearly  as  good  a 
claim  to  a  place  in  the  text  (judging  from  internal  evidence 
alone)  as  the  eight  here  mentioned.  Individual  readers  might 
object  to  two  or  three  out  of  the  number  ;  but  that  the  whole 
eight  should  have  been  invented,  or  made  tip  by  mere  conjecture, 
by  a  poor  player  in  the  earlier  part  of  the  seventeenth  century, 
is  a  supposition  so  extravagant  and  incredible,  that  it  cannot 

32 


498  THE   BATTLE   OF   THE  COMMENTATORS: 

be  entertained  for  a  moment.  As  the  examples  given  are 
taken  from  eight  different  plays,  the  proof  seems  to  be  con- 
clusive that  the  MS.  Annotator  possessed  authoritative  ma- 
terials for  the  emendation  of  a  correspondingly  large  portion 
of  Shakespeare's  text  ;  and  by  enlarging  the  selection  of  in- 
stances, the  same  argument  might  be  made  to  apply,  with 
nearly  equal  force,  to  at  least  four  fifths  of  the  plays  that  are 
included  in  the  second  folio.  The  Annotator  must  have  had 
some  means,  beyond  his  own  ingenuity,  for  amending  at 
least  thirty  of  the  plays;  though  it  does  not  follow  that  his 
means  were  adequate  to  the  entire  correction  of  any  one. 
Probably  he  had  imperfect  manuscripts,  —  transcripts  of  one 
or  more  of  the  sets  of  speeches  to  be  spoken  by  each  per- 
former at  the  representation  of  one  of  the  dramas.  And  these 
manuscripts  themselves,  having  been  copied  and  recopied  many 
times,  must  have  contained  many  errors  of  transcription,  and 
probably,  also,  some  alterations  designedly  made  by  the  per- 
formers for  various  purposes  ;  as  we  know  that  they  softened 
Falstaff's  profane  ejaculations.  We  can  thus  account  for  a 
number  of  obviously  corrupt  passages,  of  which  the  IMS.  An- 
notator takes  no  notice,  and  also  for  certain  alterations  pro- 
posed by  him  that  are  manifestly  indefensible.  His  authority, 
at  the  best,  is  no  higher  than  that  of  the  first  folio,  which  we 
know  to  have  been  printed  in  great  part  from  playhouse  man- 
uscripts ;  though  the  internal  evidence  shows  that  he  made  a 
far  more  careful  use  of  his  manuscripts  than  the  printers  of 
that  folio  did  of  theirs.  But  his  authority,  though  not  supe- 
rior, and  perhaps  not  equal,  to  that  of  the  first  complete  edi- 
tion in  print,  is  still  an  authority  of  the  same  class.  He  gives 
us  (to  adopt  a  principle  of  classification  which  Griesbach  has 
made  familiar  in  reference  to  the  manuscripts  of  the  New  Tes- 
tament) a  new  recension  of  the  text,  made  from  manuscripts 
of  equal  antiquity  with  those  used  in  printing  the  first  folio, 
though  probably  not  so  complete,  —  that  is,  not  covering  an 
equally  large  portion  of  the  text.  This  conclusion  is  again 
rendered  extremely  probable  by  the  fact,  that,  in  several  in- 
stances, the  reading  adopted  by  the  MS.  Annotator  coincides 
with  that  of  the  old  quartos,  while  it  differs  from  that  of  the 
first  folio. 


RESTORATION   OF   THE   TEXT   OF   SHAKESPEARE.  499 

The  conclusion  of  the  whole  matter,  according  to  the  view 
here  taken  of  it,  is,  that  the  text  for  future  editions  of  Shake- 
speare should  be  made  up  from  collation  of  the  three  leading 
authorities,  —  the  old  quartos,  the  first  folio,  and  the  correc- 
tions of  the  MS.  Annotator ;  —  not  omitting  any  entire  line 
found  in  either  of  them  (as  nothing,  which  probably  came  from 
Shakespeare's  own  hand,  should  be  lost)  ;  and  where  the  three 
vary,  the  choice  between  them  must  be  decided  by  internal 
evidence  alone.  These  three,  and  these  three  only,  are  au- 
thoritative sources  of  the  text;  all  else  depends  on  mere  taste 
and  conjecture. 

The  principle  thus  stated  enables  us  to  obviate  at  once  the 
only  objection  of  any  importance  that  has  been  made  to  the 
readings  of  the  MS.  Annotator.  It  is  objected  that  many  of 
these  readings  are  obviously  inadmissible,  and  (so  far  as  in- 
ternal evidence  can  prove  anything)  cannot  have  formed  part 
of  Shakespeare's  own  text.  We  admit  it ;  but  we  must  re- 
mind the  objectors,  that  precisely  the  same  tiling  can  be  said  of 
the  first  folio.  Hundreds,  perhaps  we  might  say  thousands,  of 
readings  in  that  edition  are  now  rejected  by  almost  unanimous 
consent,  the  passages  containing  them  being  obviously  corrupt. 
The  folio  also  omits  a  great  number  of  entire  lines  (we  have 
pointed  out  four  or  five  plays  in  which  about  six  hundred  are 
left  out)  which  are  indisputably  genuine.  This  objection, 
consequently,  to  the  labors  of  the  MS.  Annotator,  falls  entirely 
to  the  ground  ;  it  is  of  no  weight  whatever. 

It  may  be  said,  however,  that  the  number  of  inadmissible 
readings  proposed  by  him  bears  so  large  a  proportion  to  those 
which  may  be  allowed  to  be  correct,  as  to  discredit  his  whole 
performance.  If  we  were  compelled  to  accept,  for  instance,  the 
computation  made  by  the  critic  in  "Putnam's  Magazine,"  and 
allow,  that,  out  of  one  thousand  three  hundred  and  three  pro- 
posed modifications  of  the  text,  only  two  hundred  and  ninety 
are  good,  and  one  hundred  and  sixty-six  more  are  plausible, 
there  would  be  some  force  in  this  argument.  But  this  critic,  as 
well  as  all  the  English  assailants  of  the  newly  discovered  cor- 
rections, proceeds  upon  the  assumption  that  the  MS.  Annota- 
tor worked  by  conjecture  alone,  without  any  authority  what- 
ever ;  and  this  assumption  being  now  turned  the  other  way, 


500  THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   COMMENTATORS  : 

the  internal  evidence  assumes  an  entirely  new  aspect.  Thus, 
to  borrow  the  instance  selected  by  Mr.  Collier,  if  the  old  read- 
ing (with  which  all  minds  had  became  familiar)  of  Lady  Mac- 
beth's  appalling  invocation,  had  been  as  follows  :  — 

"  Come,  thick  night, 

And  pall  thee  in  the  dunnest  smoke  of  hell, 
That  my  keen  knife  see  not  the  wound  it  makes, 
Nor  heaven  peep  through  the  blankness  of  the  dark, 
To  cry,  '  Hold,  Hold ! '  "  — 

•what  would  be  said  of  any  critic  who  should  advise  us  to  sub- 
situte  blanket  instead  of  blankness  ?  He  would  certainly  be 
placed,  on  the  scale  of  conjectural  emendations,  lower  even  than 
Mr.  Singer.  Let  all  the  corrections  proposed  in  Mr.  Collier's 
volume  be  tried  in  this  manner  ;  that  is,  suppose  that  they 
constitute  the  old  and  received  text,  and  let  what  are  now  the 
old  readings  be  regarded  as  conjectural  emendations  ;  and  we 
doubt  not  that  the  general  voice  would  pronounce  in  favor  of 
at  least  five  sixths  of  the  corrections  now  recently  brought  to 
light.  The  corps  of  critics,  commentators,  and  editors  would 
probably  do  battle  in  favor  of  the  whole  of  them.  But  this 
mode  of  trial,  as  Mr.  Collier  very  candidly  admits,  would  not 
be  a  fair  one,  the  prejudice  in  favor  of  the  old  reading  being 
strong  enough  to  outweigh  almost  any  amount  of  internal  evi- 
dence. The  only  method  of  weighing  the  two  sets  of  readings 

i-  O  O  O 

fairly  against  each  other,  on  their  intrinsic  merits  alone,  would 
be  to  adopt  the  principle  which  we  have  now  laid  down,  and 
to  suppose  that  they  are  of  equal  external  authority  :  to  sup- 
pose, for  example,  that  they  were  both  first  published  in  the 
same  year,  from  two  equal  and  independent  sets  of  manuscripts. 
Tested  in  this  manner,  it  is  very  safe  to  say  that  at  least  a 
majority  of  the  MS.  Annotator's  readings  would  be  preferred. 
"  It  cannot  be  surprising,"  says  Mr.  Collier,  "  that  individu- 
als who,  for  many  years,  have  been  accustomed  to  see  passages, 
even  such  as  are  avowedly  corrupt,  repeated  in  every  edition, 
and  to  hear  them  recited  by  the  best  performers  of  our  own  or 
other  days,  should  at  first  feel  repugnance  to  proposed  altera- 
tions, however  excellent."  It  should  be  noted,  also,  that  this 
prepossession  attaches  itself  most  strongly  to  those  expressions 
which  are  salient  on  account  of  their  rarity,  their  obscurity,  or 


RESTORATION   OF   THE   TEXT   OF   SHAKESPEARE.  501 

their  doubtful  construction,  and  which,  for  this  very  reason, 
are  most  likely  to  be  corrupt.  These  are  peculiarities  in  the 
text,  — marked  passages,  as  it  were,  which  have  attracted  the 
attention  and  exercised  the  ingenuity  of  all  loving  readers  of 
the  great  dramatist,  each  one  of  whom  has  probably  selected 
for  them  a  pet  explanation  of  his  own,  and  they  have  thus 
naturally  come  to  be  regarded  as  peculiarly  Shakespearian. 
Weighty  and  palpable  must  be  the  evidence  that  would  dis- 
place them.  Thus,  when  Othello  exclaims, 

"  Put  out  .the  light,  and  then  put  out  the  light ;  " 
when  Macbeth  soliloquizes, 

"  If 't  were  done,  when  't  is  done,  then 't  were  well 
It  were  done  quickly ; " 

when  Gadshill  describes  those  who  are  about  to  rob  on  the 
highway  with  him  as  "  burgomasters  and  great  oneyers ;  " 
when  Dogberry  speaks  of  himself  as  "  a  fellow  that  hath  had 
losses," — the  expressions  have  become  consecrated,  as  it  were, 
in  the  mind  of  every  loving  admirer  of  Shakespeare,  and  he 
will  resist  to  the  death  any  change  in  them.  A  similar  feeling 
(it  would  be  too  harsh  to  call  it  a  prejudice^)  exists  with  regard 
to  many  expressions  in  the  common  English  version  of  the 
Scriptures,  which  might  be  profitably  amended,  as  they  are 
either  ungrammatical,  incorrect,  or  obsolete,  if  the  change  did 
not  disturb,  in  the  minds  of  millions,  associations  which  ought 
to  be  held  sacred.  It  would  be  unquestionably  more  correct 
to  say,  "  Our  Father  tvho  art,"  than  "  Our  Father  ivJiich  art "  ; 
and  when  we  read,  "  Jesus  prevented  him,  saying,"  we  know 
that  the  expression  in  this  sense  is  obsolete,  and  may  even  con- 
vey a  wrong  idea  to  common  readers.  Yet  what  person  of 
taste  and  devotion  would  like  to  hear  these  expressions  altered 
in  reading  from  the  pulpit  ?  We  need  not  show  how  this  feel- 
ing has  operated  to  prevent  the  emendations  of  the  MS.  Anno- 
tator  from  being  fairly  weighed  on  their  intrinsic  merits.  We 
respect  the  feeling  itself,  as  it  springs  from  an  amiable  and 
honorable  source.  But  it  should  not  blind  our  eyes  to  the 
weight  of  testimony. 

The  most  common  mode  of  attacking  Mr.  Collier's  volume 
has  been  to  select  the  weakest  and  least  defensible  emendations, 


502  THE   BATTLE   OF   THE  COMMENTATORS': 

or  those  which  most  strongly  counteract  the  prepossession  just 
described,  and  then  to  appeal  vehemently  to  the  common  feel- 
ing of  reverence  for  Shakespeare,  which  should  guard  his  text 
from  tasteless  conjectural  alteration.  In  the  first  place,  this 
reasoning  is  unfair.  Let  the  best  conjectural  emendator  —  let 
Theobald  himself  —  be  tried  by  the  test  of  the  poorest  and 
least  probable  changes  that  he  has  proposed,  and  his  reputation 
as  a  critic  would  instantly  disappear.  Secondly,  the  reasoning 
contains  a  gross  petitio  principii ;  it  takes  for  granted  the  two 
chief  points  at  issue,  namely,  that  the  first  folio,  in  the  case  of 
the  very  words  in  question,  does  contain  the  text  of  Shake- 
speare, and  that  the  corrections  of  the  MS.  Annotator  are  mere 
guesswork.  This  gross  fallacy,  as  we  have  seen,  is  the  sole 
reason  assigned  by  the  New  York  critic  for  not  even  taking 
into  consideration  those  cases  in  which  the  MS.  Annotator  pro- 
fesses to  have  restored  an  entire  line  to  the  text. 

The  most  common  complaint  against  these  emendations  is, 
that  they  often  clear  up  obscurity  at  the  expense  of  reducing  a 
poetical  expression  to  a  prosaic  one,  and  frequently  restore 
rhythm  and  metre  to  lines  which,  in  the  received  text,  were 
glaringly  deficient  in  one  or  both.  Now  certain  assumptions 
form  the  groundwork  of  this  complaint,  which  we  are  by  no 
means  inclined  to  admit.  We  deny  that  Shakespeare  is  gen- 
erally, or  even  frequently,  an  obscure  writer,  or  that  he  is  a 
lawless  versifier.  The  obscurity  of  a  passage,  we  hold,  is  at 
least  primd  facie  evidence  that  it  is  corrupt.  On  this  point, 
we  are  sorry  to  be  obliged  to  differ  from  so  able  and  judicious 
a  critic  as  Mr.  Hallam. 

"  It  is  impossible  to  deny,"  he  says,  "  that  innumerable  lines  in 
Shakespeare  were  not  more  intelligible  in  his  time  than  they  are  at 
present.  Much  of  this  may  be  forgiven,  or  rather  is  so  incorporated 
with  the  strength  of  his  reason  and  fancy,  that  we  love  it  as  the  proper 
body  of  Shakespeare's  soul.  Still  can  we  justify  the  very  numerous 
passages  which  yield  to  no  interpretation,  knots  which  are  never  un- 
loosed, which  conjecture  does  but  cut,  or  even  those  which,  if  they  may 
at  last  be  understood,  keep  the  attention  in  perplexity  till  the  first 
emotion  has  passed  away  ?  .  .  .  .  We  learn  Shakespeare,  in  fact,  as 
we  learn  a  language,  or  as  we  read  a  difficult  passage  in  Greek,  with 
the  < -ye  glancing  on  the  commentary  •  and  it  is  only  after  much  study 


RESTORATION   OF   THE  TEXT   OF   SHAKESPEARE.  503 

that  we  come  to  forget  a  part,  it  can  be  but  a  part,  of  the  perplexities 
he  has  caused  us."  —  Literature  of  Europe,  Vol.  III.  p.  92. 

With  all  submission,  we  think  that  this  criticism  was  writ- 
ten without  that  careful  study  of  the  history  of  the  text,  which 
discloses  the  astonishing  extent,  and  the  causes,  of  its  corrup- 
tion. An  obscure  writer  is  habitually  and  continually  obscure, 
the  defect  arising  from  some  peculiarity  in  his  habits  of 
thought,  or  from  his  imperfect  capacity  of  expression.  But 
Shakespeare  is  obscure  only  by  fits  and  starts.  Take  some  of 
his  plays  the  text  of  which  is  least  imperfect,  such  as  Rich- 
ard II.,  Romeo  and  Juliet,  or  King  John;  and  we  may  read 
scene  after  scene  without  finding  a  sentence  which  would  pre- 
sent a  difficulty  to  a  child's  understanding.  Then  suddenly 
comes  a  passage,  most  frequently  a  single  sentence,  which  is 
as  dark  as  Erebus.  Take  the  long  passages  which  are  most 
frequently  quoted  and  recited,  —  the  affecting  scene  between 
Prince  Arthur  and  Hubert,  the  quarrel  of  Brutus  and  Cassius, 
the  long  speeches  in  Julius  Coesar,  several  of  the  soliloquies  in 
Macbeth  and  Hamlet,  —  and  omit  perhaps  half  a  dozen  lines 
in  each,  and  the  rest  is  as  lucid  as  a  child's  story-book.  All 
experience  goes  to  show,  when  we  know  the  circumstances  of 
the  case,  that  the  lack  of  perspicuity  is  a  persistent  and  inbred 
characteristic  of  style  that  constantly  betrays  itself.  An  ob- 
scure writer,  like  Air.  Browning,  is  obscure  upon  system,  as  it 
were,  never  being  perspicuous  but  by  accident.  Just  the  re- 
verse is  true  of  Shakespeare. 

Again,  an  incomplete  command  of  language  is  the  most  fre- 
quent cause  of  a  labored  and  perplexed  style.  But  among  all 
the  characteristics  of  the  great  dramatist,  we  know  hardly  of 
one  so  marvellous  as  his  absolute  mastery  of  expression.  Lan- 
guage is  his  tricksy  spirit,  as  Ariel  was  to  Prospero,  and  does 
his  "  strong  bidding  "  gently, 

"  l>e  't  to  fly, 

To  swim,  to  dive  into  the  fire,  to  ride 
On  the  curled  clouds." 

For  any  purpose,  he  can  "  task  Ariel  and  all  his  quality." 
Shakespeare  wrote  for  the  populace,  and  it  was  his  business  to 
make  himself  intelligible  to  the  populace.  And  this  he  accom- 
plishes without  effort,  without  painfully  ransacking  the  vocab- 


504  THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   COMMENTATORS  : 

ulary,  or  mutilating  the  thought  in  its  expression.  The  plain- 
est arid  most  familiar  terms,  the  short  and  pithy  Anglo-Saxon 
phrases  in  which  common  men  talk  on  common  occasions,  serve 
to  exhibit  all  the  riches  of  his  imagination  and  the  depths  of 
his  philosophy.  With  the  ordinary  coin  of  the  market-place, 
he  pays  the  ransom  of  kings.  Take  the  most  thoughtful  and 
imaginative  musings,  —  the  remonstrance  of  Isabella  to  Angelo 
against  the  abuse  of  power,  Portia's  eulogy  on  mercy,  Ham- 
let's soliliquy  on  suicide,  Lear's  ravings  on  the  injustice  of  this 
world,  Claudio's  ecstacy  of  fright  at  the  near  prospect  of  death, 
and  a  thousand  others,  —  dissect  the  language  (if  you  can  have 
the  heart  to  do  it),  and  note  the  homeliness  of  the  words  and 
phrases,  when  they  are  taken  singly.  At  times,  again,  Shake- 
speare seems  to  play  with  language  ;  he  runs  in  sport  over  the 
whole  gamnt  of  expression,  but  with  the  assured  touch  of  a 
master  hand  sweeping  the  keys.  Hamlet,  who  has  just  been 
using  the  vocabulary  of  the  street  and  the  gutter,  begins  to 
tell  the  bewildered  Rosencrantz  and  Guildenstern,  — 

"  Indeed,  it  goes  so  heavily  with  my  disposition,  that  this  goodly 
frame,  the  earth,  seems  to  me  a  steril  promontory ;  this  most  excellent 
canopy,  the  air,  — look  you  !  —  this  brave  overhanging  firmament,  this 
majestical  roof  fretted  with  golden  fire,  why,  it  appears  no  other  thing 
to  me  than  a  foul  and  pestilent  congregation  of  vapors." 

Macbeth  says  his  hand,  never  to  be  cleansed  from  blood,  will 
rather 

"  The  multitudinous  sens  incarnadine, 
Making  the  green  one  red." 

It  would  be  a  miracle  if  such  a  writer  were  obscure.  His  page 
has  been  begrimed  and  covered  with  dark  spots,  only  through 
the  rough  handling  it  has  received. 

It  may  well  be  that  the  restoration  of  the  true  text,  though 
it  dissipates  the  obscurity  of  a  passage,  will  seem  to  lessen  its 
poetical  effect,  as  darkness  is  one  source  of  the  sublime.  Even 
this  result  is  not  much  to  be  deplored.  Shakespeare  will  not 
lose  much,  if  only  that  portion  of  his  poetry  is  taken  away  in 
which  we  can  with  difficulty  spell  out  a  meaning.  Critics  of 
the  German  school  have  used  a  great  deal  of  cant  on  this  sub- 
ject, as  if  there  were  an  esoteric  significance  in  many  expres- 
sions, not  to  be  deciphered  by  people  of  common  understand- 


RESTORATION   OF   THE   TEXT   OF   SHAKESPEARE.  505 

ing.  They  forget  that  the  mighty  master  belonged  himself  to 
the  people,  and  wrote  for  the  people.  It  would  almost  seem  as 
if  they  prized  the  sense  of  any  passage  only  in  proportion  to 
the  difficulty  of  getting  at  it.  In  many  lines,  which  are  simply 
corrupt,  they  have,  after  their  stupidly  profound  fashion,  dis- 
covered a  world  of  meaning.  According  to  their  apprehen- 
sions, Shakespeare  is  like  Iludibras,  who 

"  could  not  ope 
His  mouth,  but  out  there  flew  a  trope." 

However  misplaced  or  senseless  the  expression  may  seem  to 
ordinary  readers,  they  Can  discover  some  remote  analogy  in  it, 
some  glimpse  of  a  hidden  truth,  or  some  erratic  flight  of  the 
imagination,  to  which  they  cling  with  all  the  more  earnestness, 
as  it  is  not  visible  to  eyes  profane.  Then  comes  the  MS.  An- 
notator,  and,  by  restoring  a  letter  which  had  dropt  out,  or  al- 
tering the  collocation  of  a  word  or  two,  reduces  the  passage  to 
plain  narrative,  or  simple  prose,  and  they  cry  out,  — 

"  Fol,  me  occidistis,  amici, 
Non  servastis,  ....  cui  sic  extorta  voluptas, 
Et  deinptus  per  vim  mentis  gratissimus  error." 

We  cannot  sympathize  with  them  in  their  affliction.  How- 
ever prone  Shakespeare  is  to  the  use  of  figurative  language,  it 
will  not  surely  be  denied  that  he  uses  words  in  their  literal,  at 
least  six  times  as  frequently  as  in  a  metaphorical,  meaning. 
It  follows,  then,  that  an  emendation  of  the  text,  which  in 
clearing  up  an  obscure  passage,  reduces  a  figurative  expression 
to  a  literal  one,  is  at  least  six  times  as  probable  as  a  different 
suggestion,  which  does  just  the  reverse.  So,  also,  while  we 
admit  that  Shakespeare's  lines  are  often  left,  designedly  or 
carelessly,  unrhythmical  and  unmetrical,  it  is  certain  that  his 
versification  is  far  more  frequently  regular  than  irregular  ;  and 
therefore,  to  say  the  least,  there  is  no  presumption  against  a 
newly  proposed  reading,  in  that,  while  it  dissipates  obscurity 
or  completes  the  sense,  it  also  pieces  out  an  imperfect  verse,  or 
restores  smoothness  to  a  halting  one.  Keep  these  observations 
in  mind,  and  at  least  half  of  the  criticisms  which  have  been 
made  upon  the  work  of  the  MS.  Annotator  cease  to  have  any 
weight  whatever. 

We  have  already  spoken  of  the  erroneous  principles  of  what 


506         THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  COMMENTATORS: 

may  be  called  the  antiquarian  and  bibliomaniac  mode  of 
amending  or  criticising  the  text  of  Shakespeare.  Mr.  Dyce's 
volume  abounds  with  mistakes  of  this  class,  of  which  we  can 
cite  only  the  following  instance.  In  the  third  act  of  the 
Comedy  of  Errors,  Antipholus  of  Syracuse  says  to  Luciana,  — 

"  Far  more,  far  more,  to  you  do  I  [decline]  incline." 

The  MS.  Annotator  tells  us  to  substitute  incline  for  decline, 
which  is  the  reading  of  the  folio;  and  Mr.  Dyce  thus  objects 
to  the  emendation. 

"  The  manuscript  corrector  merely  substituted  a  word  more  familiar 
to  himself  and  those  of  his  time  than  '  decline.'  That  the  latter  is 
what  Shakespeare  wrote,  is  not  to  be  doubted  :  compare  Greene. 
'  That  the  loue  of  a  father,  as  it  was  royall,  so  it  ought  to  be  impar- 
tial!, neither  declining  to  the  one  nor  to  the  other,  but  as  deeds  doe 
merite.'  —  Penelopes  Web,  sig.  G  4,  ed.  1601." 

As  only  one  authority  is  here  cited  for  the  use  of  the  word 
with  this  unusual  signification,  we  cannot  help  suspecting  that 
in  Greene's  text,  as  well  as  in  Shakespeare's,  "  helming  "  was 
substituted  for  "  inclining  "  by  a  mere  error  of  the  press.  But 
however  this  may  be,  every  one  will  admit  that  it  is  safer  to 
try  and  ascertain  what  Shakespeare  wrote  from  Shakespeare 
himself,  than  from  Greene.  Turning  to  Mrs.  Cowden  Clarke's 
Concordance,  we  find  about  twenty  instances  in  which  "  in- 
cline "  is  used  in  its  present  ordinary  signification.  We  select 
the  following  cases :  — 

"  I  more  incline  to  Somerset."  —  Henry  VI. 

"  If  he  would  incline  to  the  people."  —  Coriolanus. 

"  We  must  incline  to  the  king."  —  Lear. 

"  Would  Desdemona  seriously  incline."  —  Othello. 

Using  the  same  convenient  guide,  we  find  some  twenty  cases 
more  in  which  "  decline  "  appears  in  what  is  now  its  usual 
meaning,  and  not  one  instance,  except  the  very  case  now  in 
question,  to  the  contrary.  Take  the  following  examples :  — 

"  Who  thrives,  and  who  declines." —  Coriolanus. 

"At  the  height,  are  ready  to  decline."  —  Julius  Ccesar. 

"  Spare  speech  :  decline  your  head."  —  Lear. 

"  A  great  name  should  decline  '?  "  —  Henri/  VIII. 

In  view  of  these  cases,  we  presume  even  Mr.  Dyce  will  admit 


RESTORATION   OF   THE   TEXT   OF   SHAKESPEARE.  507 

that  it  "  is  not  to  be  doubted  "  that  the  proper  word  is  "  in- 
cline." In  his  bibliomaniac  ardor,  he  overlooked  thirty  or 
forty  undeniable  examples,  which  were  close  under  his  eyes, 
for  the  sake  of  quoting  one  doubtful  case  from  a  book  which 
nobody  but  an  antiquarian  ever  heard  of. 

But  our  remarks  have  already  extended  to  an  inconvenient 
length,  and  we  must  here  leave  the  discussion  of  a  fascinating 
topic.  Our  purpose  has  been,  throughout,  not  so  much  to 
vindicate  the  great  importance  of  Mr.  Collier's  discovery,  as 
to  show  the  causes  why  it  has  been  so  vehemently  assailed, 
and  the  false  principles  of  criticism  which  have  been  applied, 
in  this  case  and  in  many  others,  to  the  examination  of  Shake- 
speare's text.  But  the  question  will  finally  be  decided  by  the 
sure  instinct  of  the  public  taste,  which,  we  cannot  doubt,  will 
soon  reverse  the  sentence  of  the  present  generation  of  editors, 
critics,  and  commentators,  and  finally  incorporate  into  the 
received  text  far  the  larger  portions  of  the  emendations  made 
by  a  poor  player  in  the  first  half  of  the  seventeenth  century. 


IKDEX. 


ANCIENTS  and  Modern?,  war  "between,  5; 
in  the  American  Academy,  0;  arts  of 
the,  24;  science  and  learning  of  the,  27; 
Mill's  estimate  of  the,  28. 

ANIMALS,  mind  of,  328.     See  Brutes. 

ANIMISTS,  doctrine  of  the,  192. 

AXNOTATOU  of  Shakespeare,  old  manu- 
script of  the,  475;  handwriting  of,  479; 
erasures  by,  480;  probable  time  of  the, 
481;  certainly  an  old  player.  482:  ad- 
mitted emendations  by  the,  480;  did  not 
amend  by  guesswork,  489 ;  but  like  a 
proof-reader,  4'JO ;  his  readings  cited' 
and  defended,  491;  high  authority  of 
the,  498;  objections  to  his  work  obvi- 
ated, 499. 

ANNUITIES  as  a  form  of  National  Debt, 
70;  advantages  of,  79. 

AKLSTOTLE  on  the  common  and  higher 
sense,  145;  on  the  sense  of  touch,  153; 
on  Causation,  104;  on  Matter  and  Form, 
105. 

AKNAULD,  the  Jansenist,  397,  399. 

ATHEISM  leads  to  pessimism,  370. 

BKRKELEY,  Mill  on,  308. 

BIGKI.ONV,  Dr.  Jacob,  attacks  Classical 
Studies,  0:  refutes  himself,  8;  sweep- 
ing iconnclasin  of,  9;  on  the  limits  of 
education,  14. 

IiKAix  not  a  material  record  of  thought, 
153. 

Hi'U'TEs,  mind  of.  328:  marvellous  stories 
about.  329;  capacities  of.  331):  imagina- 
tion of.  331  :  mental  association  by,  332: 
incapable  of  language.  333:  have  neither 

words  nor  thoughts.  334:  have  no  past 

1 
or  future,  335;  take   no  note  of   time  or 

number,   330;    dreamlike   life   of,    337; 


profit  not  by  experience,  338;  do  not  dis- 
criminate, 343;  are  clairvoyant  through 
instinct,  344;  their  substitute  for  rea- 
son, 348;  the  organs  of,  how  generated, 
349. 

BUCKLE,  History  of  Civilization  by.  247  ; 
criticised,  248  ;  a  fatalist  and  materialist, 
250;  blunders  of,  252;  his  misuse  of 
statistics,  250  ;  as  a  historian,  259:  mu- 
tilates the  facts,  200  ;  defects  of  his 
theory,  201;  builds  on  false  political 
economy,  202  ;  his  statements  confuted, 
203:  faults  of  his  method,  205;  on  intel- 
lect and  conscience,  207;  on  science, 
278;  on  war,  283;  childi>h  reasoning 
of,  280. 

BL'XSKX,  wild  speculations  of,  432;  Hege!- 
ianism  of,  434. 

CAPITAL,  effects  of  the  accumulation  of, 
129. 

CATSE,  Idea  of,  104;  Aristotle's  four  sorts 
of,  105;  Immanent  and  Trauseunt,  100; 
principle  of,  107 ;  distinguished  from 
reasons,  108:  Jii-mll  and  coynoscendi, 
109;  enduring  and  transitory,  171  :  oc- 
casional, instrumental,  and  physical.  173  ; 
efficient.  105,  175  :  operates  beyond  it- 
self, 177;  tiual.  178:  of  gravity.  ]S2: 
in  living  organisms,  180:  various  theories 
of,  187,318;  resolved  into  mental  action, 
192  ;  unconscious,  1H4. 

CHI:ISTI  ANITV.  Oxford  attack  on.  421  :  is 
obsolete,  according  to  Dr.  Temple.  42^: 
not  yet  superseded,  431  :  is  essentially 
miraculous,  437  ;  Wil-oii's  attack  on, 
441. 

CIVII.I/ATIOV,  Pmcklo's  hi-tory  of,  247; 
not  due  to  the  progress  of  knowledge, 


510 


INDEX. 


267 ;  definition  of,  273 ;  of  Rome,  274 ; 
advanced  by  morality,  275 ;  and  by 
religion,  276;  little  aided  by  science, 
278. 

CLASSICAL  Studies,  vindication  of,  5,  8; 
educational  value  of,  9;  number  of  pu- 
pils in,  10;  infused  into  modern  litera- 
ture and  science,  12  ;  English  authors 
imbued  with,  13;  necessary  for  teachers, 
15;  liberalizing  effects  of,  1C;  nomen- 
clature of  science  founded  on,  17  ;  in- 
fluence of,  on  modern  civilization,  21; 
conservative  influence  of,  29  ;  endangered 
by  excessive  study  of  grammar,  30. 

CLERGYMEN,  origin  of  scepticism  among, 
4-23. 

COLLIER,  J.  P.,  discovers  an  old  annotator 
on  Shakespeare,  457,  475;  doubtful  con- 
duct of,  477,  Note ;  on  the  erasures  and 
emendations,  480. 

COMMENTATORS,  battle  of  the,  on  Shake- 
speare, 457;  attack  Collier's  folio,  475; 
hubbub  among  the,  476;  spoiled  by 
bibliomania,  487. 

CONSCIOUSNESS,  limits  of,  159. 

CONSERVATION  of  force,  183 ;  is  only  con- 
vertibility of  motion,  185. 

CURRENCY,  evils  of  inflating  the,  62,  116; 
spontaneous  contraction  of  the,  63  ;  ex- 
cessive issues  of  paper,  114;  fixed  amount 
of,  115. 

DARWIN  on  the  brute  mind.  329. 

DARWINISM,  199;  founded  on  Malthusian- 
ism,  361;  cardinal  doctrine  of,  disproved, 
362;  sterility  of  cultivated  races,  365; 
the  lower  races  survive,  367.  See  Evo- 
lution. 

DEBTS,  National,  origin  of,  71  :  mode  of 
funding,  72  ;  why  have  any,  74;  should 
be  paid  off  soon,  75;  should  be  funded 
in  short  annuities,  76;  demoralizing  ef- 
fects of,  81,  100 ;  not  justly  made  per- 
petual. 82;  a  mortgage  on  the  labor  of 
posterity,  84 ;  American  policy  respect- 
ing, 86  ;  dangers  of  great  hereditary,  90  ; 
in  England,  96;  in  the  United  States, 
97  :  taxation  caused  by,  98 :  strengthen 
the  Union,  103;  owned  at  home,  105. 

DISEASES  not  hereditable,  232. 

DOLLAR,  laws  affecting  the  value  of  the, 
48. 


DUALISM    in    philosophy,   136;    of    man. 

149. 
DYCE  as  an  editor  of  Shakespeare,  485 ; 

a  bibliomaniac,  488 ;  mistake  of,  506. 

EFFICIENT  and  final  causation,  165  ;  union 
of,  179. 

EFFORT,  idea  of,  306. 

EMPIRICISM  disproved,  301.  314. 

ENERGY  is  cause  in  action,  184. 

ESSAYS  and  Reviews  characterized,  421. 

ETHERIZATION,  psychical  effects  of,  242; 
unlike  sleep  or  a  swoon,  245. 

EVIDENCES  of  Christianity,  study  of  the, 
424;  Baden  Powell  on  the,  436;  Mark 
Pattison  on,  450 ;  causes  of  studying, 
451. 

EVOLUTION,  theory  of,  199;  five  steps  of, 
200;  through  natural  selection,  201;  evi- 
dence of,  202;  arguments  against,  204; 
denies  final  cause,  211 ;  denies  creation, 
214;  of  instinct,  220;  of  man,  221;  of 
intermediate  forms,  222. 

FATALISM  as  taught  by  Buckle.  251;  argu- 
ments against,  254;  statistical  evidence 
for,  256;  Mill's  theory  of,  320. 

FINAL  Cause,  165.  178 ;  denied  by  the 
Evolution  theory,  212,  217. 

FINANCES  of  the  War.  93  ;  instructive  his- 
tory of  the,  108;  blunders  in  the  conduct 
of  the,  111. 

FORCE,  conservation  of,  183. 

FORMAL  Cause,  nature  of,  165. 

FRANCE,  attempted  double  standard  of 
value  in,  46. 

FUNDING  a  National  Debt,  72;  in  France, 
73;  in  short  annuities,  76. 

GEORGE  III.,  insanity  of,  234. 

GERMANY,  silver  demonetized  in,  41. 

GODWIN.  Political  Justice  of,  352. 

GOLD,  decline  in  the  value  of,  35;  ratio  of, 
to  silver,  48;  abrasion  of  the  coinage  of, 
50  ;  sales  of,  by  the  United  States  Treas- 
ury. 67. 

GOODWIN,  C.  "\V.,  on  the  Mosaic  cos- 
mogony. 448 ;  criticised  and  refuted, 
449. 

GRAMMAR  dependent  on  Classical  Studies, 
12;  abuse  of  the  study  of,  30. 

GRAVITY  not  a  Cause,  182. 


INDEX. 


511 


HAMILTON,  Mill's  examination  of  the  phi- 
losophy of,  288;  on  freedom  of  the  will, 
3:21,  3-2:]. 

HARTMANN  as  a  pessimist,  375;  advice 
given  by,  377  ;  three  illusions  of,  378. 

HEGELIANISM  of  Bunsen,  434. 

HUMBOLDT  as  a  pessimist,  376. 

HUXLKY  on  the  brute  mind,  329. 

IDEALISM  contrasted  with  Materialism, 
13G. 

IMMANENT  and  Transeunt  Causes,  100. 

INHERITANCE  of  abnormal  traits,  203;  ar- 
guments against,  232. 

INSANITY,  assumed  inheritance  of,  232; 
of  George  III.,  not  inherited  or  trans- 
mitted, 234. 

INSTINCT,  nature  of,  193:  not  transmut- 
able,  224;  clairvoyance  in,  344. 

JANSENIUS,  the  Augustinus  of,  390. 

JEFFERSON  against  the  perpetuity  of  Na- 
tional Debts,  87. 

JESUITS,  origin  and  policy  of  the,  393 ;  de- 
feated by  Pascal,  400;  morality  of,  402. 

JOWETT,  1'rof.,  on  the  Interpretation  of 
Scripture,  454;  low  rationalism  of,  455. 

KNIOHT  on  the  quarto  copies  of  Shake- 
speare's plays,  400,  408. 

MAINLANDER  as  a  pessimist,  370. 

MALTHUSIANISM  in  Political  Economy, 
131;  origin  of,  351;  pessimism  of,  352; 
outline  of,  353;  decline  of,  350;  refutation 
of,  357;  adopted  into  Darwinism,  301; 
and  into  pessimism,  370. 

MATERIAL  Cause,  nature  of,  105. 

MATERIALISM,  reasons  for  and  against, 
130  ;  absurd  assumptions  of,  140;  various 
hypotheses  of,  148;  Uuskin's  ridicule  of, 
151;  Tail's  evidence  against,  154;  re- 
jects the  unity  of  consciousness,  102;  on 
Causation,  175;  finds  no  real  Cause.  180. 

MATTER,  incessant  changes  of,  143;  com- 
parative unrealitv  of,  150:  has  no  dy- 
namical properties,  185;  Mill's  theory  of, 
299.  308. 

MAVDSLEY  on  the  mechanism  of  the  brain, 
140;  confesses  the  weakness  of  his  theory, 
147. 

MILL,  J.  S.,  on  Greek  civilization,  28;  on 


Hamilton's  Philosophy,  288;  on  insepa- 
rable association,  290;  on  infinite  space, 
292  ;  on  the  relativity  of  knowledge,  294  ; 
blunders  about  immediate  and  absolute, 
295  ;  his  theory  of  Matter  confuted,  299  ; 
his  empiricism  disproved,  301,  314;  re- 
solves space  into  motion,  303 ;  on  the 
cognition  of  Self,  305;  on  effort,  307; 
on  Berkeley,  308;  on  Mind,  309;  Solip- 
sismus  of,  310;  on  Causation,  317;  ne- 
cessitarianism of,  320;  on  moral  respon- 
sibility, 327. 

MIND,  unity  and  sameness  of,  143;  ubiq- 
uity of,  to  the  body,  150,  100;  more  real 
than  matter,  155 ;  Nature  constructed 
by,  158;  locates  its  sensations,  100;  is 
outside  of  time  and  space,  190;  the  hu- 
man and  the  brute,  compared,  328;  de- 
pendent on  experience,  340. 

MIRACLE,  nature  of,  190. 

MOLINA,  doctrine  of,  395. 

MONEY,  two  distinct  functions  of,  52. 

MOSAIC  Cosmogony,  Goodwin  on,  448. 

NATIONAL  Church,  Wilson    on  the,    440; 

Coleridge's   theory  respecting  the,  443; 

Debt,  perpetuity  of,  71.     See  Debts. 
NATURAL  Selection  of  species,  201 ;   does 

not  explain  the  origin  of   species,  208; 

fatalistic  nature  of,  215. 
NIHILISM  in  Russia,  372. 

OCCASIONAL  Cause,  173. 

OXFORD  clergymen,  Essays  by,  421. 

PANGENESIS  theory  refuted,  191. 

PAPER  currency,  fluctuating  value  of,  51. 

PASCAL,  precocity  of,  381 ;  biography  of, 
382 ;  inventions  of,  380  ;  as  a  mathema- 
tician, 387;  as  a  physicist,  388;  religious 
fervor  of.  391;  as  a  Port  Royalist,  394; 
on  faith  and  fact,  398;  Provincial  Let- 
ters of,  400;  physical  sufferings  of,  407; 
origin  of  the  •'  Thoughts  "  of,  409  ;  edi- 
tions of,  410;  gloomy  eloquence  of.  407; 
purpose  and  argument  of.  412:  on  human 
nature,  413:  on  the  authority  of  the  an- 
cients, 410:  selected  aphorisms  of,  418. 

PATTISON,  Mark,  on  Religious  Thought  in 
England,  44'.':  denies  the  value  of  the 
Evidences,  4.">0;  criticised  and  refuted, 
452;  foolish  sarcasms  of,  453. 


512 


INDEX. 


PERSONALITY,  significance  of,  142. 

PESSIMISM  the  result  of  atheism,  370; 
prevalence  of,  in  Germany,  371;  fearful 
consequences  of,  372  ;  under  the  Roman 
Empire,  373;  history  of,  374. 

PHYSICAL  causation,  nature  of,  173,  439; 
Cause,  or  Law,  173;  is  not  a  real  Cause, 
181;  does  not  explain  action,  188. 

POLITICAL  Economy,  the  Science  of,  118; 
partial  influence  of,  119  ;  pushed  to  theo- 
retical extremes,  120;  bias  of  English 
writers  on,  121 ;  bearing  of  statistics  on 
the  study  of,  122;  need  of  an  American 
system  of,  123;  prejudices  corrected  by, 
125;  dangers  of  neglecting,  120;  of  the 
Poor  Laws,  128;  of  the  increase  of  popu- 
lation, 130. 

PORT  Royalists,  origin  of  the,  393;  doc- 
trines of.  394;  defended  by  Pascal,  400; 
miraculous  deliverance  of,  404. 

POWELL,  Baden,  on  the  Evidences,  436; 
denies  any  external  revelation,  437  ;  con- 
fused about  physical  causation,  439. 

PROVINCIAL  Letters  of  Pascal,  400. 

PSYCHICAL  and  physical  phenomena  con- 
trasted, 130  :  comparative  evidence  of, 
138  ;  immediately  apprehended,  140  ; 
identity  of  the  subject  of,  143 ;  synthesis 
of,  144;  reality  of,  155. 

REASONS  are  not  Causes,  108. 
ROME,  pessimism  in  ancient,  373, 
KUSKIN,  materialism  ridiculed  by,  151. 

SCIENCE  dependent  on  classical  studies. 
19;  modern  civilization  little  affected  by, 
22  ;  does  not  multiply  inventions,  25  ; 
little  influence  of.  on  civili/.ation,  278: 
does  not  promote  invention.  280;  nor 
stop  war,  283. 

SHAKESPEARE,  corrupt  state  of  the  text 
of,  457:  unconscious  of  greatness,  and 
negligent.  458:  wrote  for  the  populace. 
400;  aimed  only  to  fill  his  pur.-e,  402 : 
never  published  his  plays,  403:  quarto 
edition-;  of  hi-  plays.  405  :  maimed  cop- 
ies of,  407:  fir.-t  folio  of,  470:  abridged, 
to  shorten  the  performance,  471  ;  re- 
wrote other  dramatists,  473:  di-covery 
of  the  annotated  folio  of.  475:  correc- 
tions of  the  text  of,  4'Sti:  di-cus-ion  of 
various  readings  in,  491 ;  natural  preju- 


dice for  old  readings  in,  500;  not  obscure 
in  style,  502;  a  great  master  of  lan- 
guage, 503;  his  verse  usually  smooth, 
505. 

SHAME,  instinct  of,  228. 

SILVER,  fluctuations  in  the  price  of,  33  ; 
great  depreciation  of,  37  ;  increased  prod- 
uct of,  38;  diminished  export  of,  to 
India,  39;  demonetized  by  England,  40; 
and  by  Germany,  41;  and  other  coun- 
tries, 42;  cannot  now  be  made  a  stand- 
ard of  value,  45,  54;  French  coinage  of, 
40 ;  American  coinage  of,  47  ;  laws  reg- 
ulating the  value  of,  48;  demonetized  in 
this  country,  50;  inconvenient  bulk  and 
weight  of,  55;  loss  of.  by  abrasion,  50; 
u-eful  for  subsidiary  currency,  59  ;  sum 
of  conclusions  in  the  Report  on,  68. 

SINGER,  S.  W.,  as  an  editor  of  Shake- 
speare, silliness  of,  484;  stupid  sugges- 
tion by,  492. 

SPACE,  Mill  on  the  infinity  of,  292;  direct 
intuition  of,  301. 

SPECIE  payments,  resumption  of,  59:  na- 
tional honor  requires,  00;  suspension 
of,  113. 

SPECIES,  origin  of.  204. 

STANDARD  of  value,  45.  53;  evils  caused 
by  the  want  of  a,  05. 

STRUGGLE  for  life,  201,  207. 

SUICIDE  by  sympathetic  imitation,  230. 

TAIT,  Prof.,  against  materialism.  154. 

TAXATION  caused  by  our  Civil  War,  98; 
absurdity  of  prospective.  112. 

TECHNOLOGICAL  Institufe,  foundation  of 
the,  14;  taught  by  classical  scholars.  15. 

TEMPLE.  F.,  on  the  education  of  the  world, 
425:  fanciful  notions  of,  420:  onlv  seri- 
ous purpose  of,  427:  refuted.  428;  half 
a  Positivist,  42!);  sophistry  of.  430. 

THEOLOGY,  influence  of  the  study  of.  423. 

THOUGHTS  of  Pa-cal.  ori.ni:!  of  the,  409: 
editions  of  the,  410:  cited  and  charac- 
terized, 412. 


VALVE,   futility  of   a  double   standard  of. 
45. 


INDEX. 


513 


VARIATION  of  species,  200 ;  evidence  for, 
203. 

WAR  of  the  Great  Rebellion,  magnitude 
of  the,  93;  difficulties  of  the,  94;  enor- 
mous expense  of,  95;  advantages  gained 
by,  101 ;  horrors  of,  100. 

WEALTH  must  be  perpetually  renewed,  88. 


WILLIAMS,  Dr.,  Essay  on  Bunsen  by,  432; 
lacks  candor,  433;  teaches  Hegelianiam 
without  knowing  it,  434. 

WILSON,  Henry  U.,  on  the  National 
Church,  440;  whines  and  frets,  441;  re- 
futed, 442;  on  clerical  subscription,  444; 
casuistry  of,  445;  dishonest  position  of, 
447. 


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